


Wolf at Your Door

by magnolia_9



Series: Wolf at Your Door [1]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Smut, canonverse is not a happy place for this pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnolia_9/pseuds/magnolia_9
Summary: After placing his boot firmly on Alexandria’s neck, Negan decides to take its leader out on a scavenging trip. He only half-expected what ensued.





	1. Wolf at Your Door

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, folks! This will be a loosely connected series set in season 7, with the canon divergence that Michonne never falls in love with Rick. If he had that core of love and safety with her, I don't think he would be susceptible to Negan’s shenanigans, and this is a story about him being susceptible to Negan’s shenanigans. It will probably be a longer wait between updates because of my schedule, but it'll all be up eventually! Hope y'all like it.

When he dreamt of that night, it wasn’t usually of Glenn’s death. Or Abe’s. It wasn’t even usually of Carl, his expression heart-wrenchingly dull and resigned as he watched his sobbing father raise an axe above his arm. He usually dreamt of the fog. Time had seemed to stop as he staggered through it, beset on every side by danger he couldn’t see. In the confused din of his thoughts, one kept rising to the surface - _this is it this is it this is it_. The thick white mist, the low groaning of the dead, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears - it felt _final_ , finished, like the snowy flickering at the end of an old film-reel. He wasn’t afraid he would die out there - he felt he _had_ died out there, and his soul would never leave that cold and ghastly place.

Of course, that was not what had happened. Time went on and on, heedless of just what had been crushed and broken in that tree-lined clearing. It would continue to go on, as long as there was someone left alive to mark its passing. Rick knew he had to pull himself together enough to _keep_ everyone alive in the world that had shifted so grotesquely around them, and his first test was on the horizon.

The Saviors were coming to Alexandria - _he_ was coming to Alexandria, to collect half of their supplies.

Part of Rick still wondered if it was all a bizarre prelude to killing them all - just an extension of that terrifying night in the woods where the man with the barbed-wire bat had wrapped himself around them in the dark, herding them like sheep. He had allowed them just enough room to maneuver in that it was all the more disorienting when the jaws of his trap snapped shut. He had _played_ with them. The memory of that high, floating whistle assaulting him from every direction still haunted Rick at night, and so when he opened the gates to find Negan, earlier than expected and wearing a sharp-toothed, sinister grin like a storybook big, bad wolf, there was a part of him that fully expected to die.

He didn’t. Not that day and not any other day that they arrived to snatch the food from Alexandria’s collective mouth. But that did little to ease the dread, and Rick knew better than to think that anything ever would. The dread was the point; he _fed_ on it. Negan always insisted that Rick hold his monstrosity of a bat - _Lucille_ \- and follow him around like a well-trained dog, so he was always close enough to see it happen - the way the man seemed to grow sharper, more defined, more _real_ when he had people quailing before him, as if he were actually swallowing up their vitality. It all inspired enough aggrieved rage that Rick often had to keep his eyes trained on the floor to avoid giving himself away. He thought, at first, that Negan would take that as a sign of his submission and leave it at that. He knew better now.

“Look at me, Rick,” he would taunt in a sing-song tone. “Come on. Eyes up here.”

And Rick would struggle for a neutral expression as he slowly raised his head to meet Negan’s sly, penetrating stare. Frequently, Rick got the uncomfortable impression that the other man could see straight into him and to every ugly, bloody thought he was trying to hide. He would usually grin as Rick’s eyes finally met his, an open mockery of the impotent fury roiling there, but sometimes Rick would be met with a sudden snarl and a vicious torrent of threats and admonishments. He didn’t know what was worse: when Negan stood over him, raging at him to _be careful how you fucking look at me, Rick_ or when he just gave him that toothy, predatory grin and turned away, utterly confident that Rick was no threat.

He didn’t know which was worse, and he never knew which was coming, because Negan was as changeable as the weather. Being near him was dizzying, and every time Rick approached the gates of Alexandria on a pick-up day and saw his silhouette, Lucille perched on his shoulder, his stomach plummeted.

Today was one of those days, and Rick kept his eyes assiduously on the floor as he rolled back the gate. Negan was whistling, and Rick had to force himself to relax his jaw to prevent himself from grinding his teeth together in sheer annoyance. As Saviors streamed by him, the whistling stopped.

“Look at me, Rick.”

 _Oh, good. It’s starting already_ , he thought to himself wearily, slowly lifting his eyes to Negan. The other man was grinning, and he still hadn’t stepped inside the gate. Rick felt a faint stab of unease.

“I thought we’d do something different today, Rick.”

Rick blinked at him, and the unease deepened. “Different?” he echoed.

Negan’s grin widened. “I thought we’d go on a little scavenging trip. You an’ me. Get to know each other a little better.” He flung an arm around Rick’s neck and dragged him in like a long-lost friend.

Rick knew perfectly well that “no” was not an acceptable answer, but it is what his mind was screaming in response. Out in the open with Negan? Did he finally mean to kill him?

“Come on, Rick, you’re not _afraid_ , are you? You don’t think I’m taking you out back to shoot you like ol’ Yeller?”

Rick’s startled eyes flew up to his, and he was caught off-guard once again at how damn perceptive Negan could be. “No, I don’t,” he said quietly, in the most neutral tone he could manage.

Negan’s gaze sharpened. “Good. Because you know I wouldn’t take you out back for that. I’d do it right here.” Negan jabbed a finger towards the town, his arm still clamped around Rick’s neck. “In front of your people. Don’t you fuckin’ doubt it, Ricky boy.”

“I don’t,” Rick said, and his gaze drifted down to the dusty ground again.

Negan chuckled above him. “You’re a good boy, ol’ Yeller. Now get in the fucking truck.”

Rick swallowed. “Can I just -"

“ _Ri-ick_.” A two-note warning that was all the more frightening for the cheery tone it was delivered in.

“My son,” Rick rushed out. He forced himself to look up at Negan again, and although a pleasant smile sat on the other man’s lips, his eyes were blank and unreadable. “Can I tell my son where I’m going? He’ll…he’ll worry if I’m just gone.” He couldn’t detect even a flicker of a change in Negan’s expression, and desperation clutched his heart. Carl was on a hair-trigger and liable to start tearing into Saviors if he thought Rick might be in trouble. The thought of what that could cost them turned Rick’s blood to ice in his veins. “ _Please_ ,” he added hoarsely, forcing down his pride with an effort.

A slow, mocking, Cheshire-cat smile curled Negan’s lips. “Well, fuck, Rick. Don’t fucking _beg_. Have a little dignity.”

Rick dropped his head, fighting the swell of humiliation and rage. “Please,” he said again, to the ground.

Negan sighed and rolled his head back. “Five minutes. Five fucking minutes. You don’t find him by then, tough shit. Get one of your asshole townies to pass on the fucking message. _Christ_ ,” he added wonderingly, “why am I so motherfucking _nice_ to you?”

Rick was already turning away, so mercifully there was no chance of Negan seeing the expression that brought to his face.

He was relieved to find Carl exactly where he thought he would be - pacing in the kitchen of their house, guarding the stairs that led to Judith like a pitbull. Seeing his instinctive protection of her squeezed Rick’s heart painfully in his chest. To say that Carl was not happy about Negan’s surprise demand for a one-on-one outing with Rick was an understatement, but Rick managed to mollify him in record time.

He sprinted back to the gates of Alexandria, and Negan was already sitting in the driver’s seat of the truck - no, not a truck, the _camper_. The same one that he had dragged him into that awful night. Goosebumps spread across Rick’s arms as he stared, hesitating. A loud, petulant blast from the horn nearly sent him straight into the air, and he whirled to gesture wildly at the man guarding the gate to close it. Any nearby walker would surely be lumbering towards them now, and Rick forced himself to jog up to the passenger side and open the door, sliding in. He avoided Negan’s gaze as he fumbled for the seat belt.

“What would you think if you found a fenced-in yard in the middle of the woods, Rick?” he asked without preamble as he spun the vehicle around sharply, tires kicking up a dirty cloud.

Rick braced himself against the door as the careless maneuvering jostled him in his seat, and he twisted to stare at Negan in confusion. “A…a what?”

“About twenty-five hundred square feet of land, surrounded by a fucking twelve-foot high fence. Reinforced steel, the fucking works.”

“What’s inside?”

“That’s just it. Nothing’s inside. Or so my people tell me. But you know what? I don’t believe it. Point of a fence is to protect somethin’, right?”

“Underground,” Rick mused.

“Underground,” Negan echoed, shooting him an appreciative look. “Give the man a kewpie doll. None of the fucking Mensa members that work for me came up with that one while they were out there. But they swear up and down that there wasn’t anything there. No doors in the ground. Nothing.”

“Hard to find something if you don’t know what you’re lookin’ for,” Rick said mildly, picking at the cuffs of his jacket. He already felt sorry for the Saviors that had scouted the location.

“That’s what I very politely explained to them,” Negan said cheerfully. His teeth flashed as he grinned.

Rick looked away, lips twisting into an uneasy frown. He wondered if that was the sort of thing Negan killed over. He wondered if he killed his own men with the same maniac glee he had shown killing Glenn and Abe. His mind skittered away from the thought. “How far out is it?”

“Not so far, but we need to do half a mile on foot through the woods. We’re going on a fucking hike, Rick! Did you like that outdoorsy shit, back in the day? You _have_ to like it now, don’t you? We all fucking do.”

“I guess,” Rick replied cautiously.

“I fucking hated it,” Negan said in a low, conspiratorial tone. “I was an indoor kitty, Rick.”

Rick said nothing, training his eyes on the road ahead of them.

“Rick,” Negan sighed after a moment, “were you always this piss-poor at small talk?”

“Actually, yes,” Rick returned drily. “You ain’t the first person to point it out.”

Negan licked his lips slowly, glancing at him. “What’d you do before the world went to shit, Rick? I got an idea, and I want to see if I’m right.”

“What idea? What do you think I did?” Rick asked challengingly. He knew he was being childish, but he saw the opportunity to prove Negan wrong, and he couldn’t help but grasp at it.

Negan shifted in his seat, grinning in anticipation. “Cop.” The expression on Rick’s face must have been eloquent, because Negan broke immediately into howling laughter. “I fucking knew it,” he wheezed, and he pounded on the wheel in mirth.

“Someone told you,” Rick accused faintly, dumbfounded.

“Who the fuck would have, Rick? Who would have told me that shit? No, no, sheriff, that shit is fucking _obvious_.” His laughter faded into occasional chuckles. “Aren’t you gonna ask, Rick? I know you fucking want to,” he said after a long silence, shooting him another one of his sly, sideways looks.

He _did_ want to - he was curious. At the same time, he was leery of whatever this was. There was no such thing as a casual chat with the man. Interacting with him in any way was like walking a tightrope over a pit of lava. One false step, and you would burn. “Okay,” Rick said carefully, “what did you do before?”

“What do you think I did, Rick?”

 _I think you were some goddamn criminal psychopath locked up in a maximum security hellhole. I think the apocalypse came and cracked your cell wide open, and you stepped back out into the world like a demon rising up from hell._ “I honestly don’t know.”

Negan frowned at him, eyes suddenly sharp with displeasure. “Don’t be like that, Rick. Don’t be a fucking coward. Is that it? You’re a coward now? Is that all it took to knock the fucking fight out of you? I only killed _two_ of ‘em.”

“I think you probably did time,” Rick ground out, feeling a red haze expand slowly from a single point deep inside his mind, like a bomb had gone off and was engulfing him with its destructive heat. _Stop_. His fingers flexed into the fabric of his pants. _Stop it_. He breathed deeply through his nose. _He’ll hurt Carl_. That brought him back, and the heat in his brain cooled.

Negan was watching him with a mocking smile, as if he knew exactly what was going on Rick’s head. “Wrong, Officer asshole. I never did any time.”

“Then I guess you got away with whatever shit you were doin’,” Rick replied tightly. _Just like you still are_.

Negan snorted. “Fuck you, Rick. I wasn’t a fucking saint, but I didn’t get up to any serious shit before this all went down. I drank too much whiskey, got into too many fights, and drove my bike screaming down the freeway without a fucking helmet, but that was it. You think I was Scarface out there?”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s what you are now.”

Negan gave a delighted laugh. “Shit, really? You think I’m like Scarface? He was a fucking _badass_. You fucking flatter me, Rick.” He reached over and jostled his shoulder like they were old friends. It was something Shane used to do, and Rick felt himself seize up with horror and a confused sadness. “Well, I didn’t move coke. I was a gym teacher. Taught kids around Carl’s age, actually.”

Rick turned his head and stared. “Gym teacher,” he echoed hollowly. He thought that should have been funny. It _would_ be, anyway, under different circumstances, but he had hardly spent twenty minutes with Negan, and he already felt like the man had brought him to the edge of some breaking point. Just hearing Carl’s name on his lips made sweat bead on his forehead.

After another heavy silence, Negan groaned. “Fuck, Rick, you morose _motherfucker_. You seriously don’t have a single goddamn thing to say to that? That usually knocks people right on their ass.”

“I’ll bet those kids hated you,” he said coldly, digging his nails into his palm and trying to use the stinging pain to center himself.

“Probably. I made them run a fuck-ton of laps. Although, hell, they’re probably grateful now. Probably runnin’ from the dead, thinking ‘thank _Christ_ for that asshole.’” He lapsed into a brooding silence, and Rick should have been happy about that.

Instead, he surprised himself by asking, “You don’t know where they are? What happened to ‘em? The, uh…the kids you used to teach?” Rick saw something tick in Negan’s jaw.

“Nope,” the other man said shortly, and this time the silence between them remained unbroken.

—

Negan pulled up to the side of the road sooner than Rick expected. He had meant it when he said they weren’t going far. Rick frowned - how had they missed the bizarre structure Negan had described? He thought Aaron had the immediate surroundings of Alexandria pretty well mapped out, but it seemed there were still a few surprises left around.

“You’re not gonna give me a weapon?” Rick asked after he had dismounted and circled to Negan’s side. “Easy to get surprised in the woods.”

Negan shot him a cold smile, swinging Lucille in a wide circle. “Don’t worry, Rick. Daddy’s got you.”

That was no more than Rick had expected; presumably, Negan hadn’t gotten to where he was by being an idiot. If Rick had a weapon in his hand and a chance, he would take it without hesitation. Negan’s steady, mocking gaze was on him, seeming to acknowledge the unspoken thought - _I know you would, Rick_. He shrugged and turned away from the dark-haired man wordlessly. He thought that moving through the thick woods, with its ample opportunities for walkers to lunge unexpectedly from behind trees or to reach their grasping hands up from beneath deadfall, would require enough of Negan’s attention to keep him quiet. He was wrong.

“Are you gettin’ laid, Rick?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Rick muttered, picking his way through jutting rocks and fallen branches. The mocking laughter that rolled over him in response made him cringe.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Negan crowed, “I knew it. You’re not gettin’ _any_ , are you? No wonder you always walk around with your fucking face looking all pinched up. Like that,” he cried in delight as Rick looked back at him, brows drawn together and thunderous.

“You’re makin’ a lot of noise, Negan,” Rick snapped. “You wanna make sure every walker around hears us comin’?”

“Oh, Rick,” he sighed, “Rick, Rick, Rick. I think it’s the fuckin’ _attitude_ on you, Ricky boy. That or the way you won’t _talk_. That ‘man of few words’ shit - that’s never gonna get you laid. Yeah, that’s definitely it,” Negan continued to muse, twirling Lucille like a baton. “It’s not the face or the body, anyway. You have a hell of a body, Rick. Those jeans fit you _just_ right.”

Rick told himself at the outset that he wouldn’t react to anything Negan said to him. He had gotten under his skin in the car, but it wouldn’t fucking happen again, because he was going to stay cool as a cucumber. He realized now how unspeakably foolish that was, and he wheeled around and stared at the other man in disbelief.

Negan chuckled, kicking aside a leafy branch. “What? I got eyes, don’t I? You’re gonna walk up ahead and wiggle that ass at me, and I’m just supposed to - what? Not fucking _notice_?”

Rick spluttered, caught between shock, anger, and embarrassment. “I - wh - I’m just walkin’! The _hell_ is wrong with you?” A gurgling moan from somewhere in the distance reached him, and he jerked towards it. He realized that he had been entirely focused on Negan for a moment, and his heart sank a little in dismay at his own carelessness. _He’s got you off-balance, Rick. Stop letting him get into your goddamn head. That’s what he does._

Negan nudged him forward, frowning in the direction of the noise. “Keep moving, sugar-ass. We’re almost there.”

Rick kept moving, picking his way through the underbrush and admonishing himself. _Focus. Fucking focus._ The trees grew scarcer around them, and Rick saw it - a gigantic metal fence, stuck absurdly in the middle of everything as if it had been picked up from somewhere else and plopped down by a confused giant. He felt a cold trickle of fear as he took in the thick gaggle of walkers on the far end of it. They turned ponderously towards them, moving as if they shared a single mind.

“Well, shit,” Negan said behind him, sounding resigned, “maybe I did talk too damn loud.” He let out a shrill whistle, and Rick gasped, fixing him with a shocked stare. Negan met it with a laugh. “They’re standing at the entrance to the thing. We have to draw ‘em out.” He gave Rick a shove in the opposite direction of the shambling, groaning creatures approaching them. “We’re goin’ around the other way, Ricky.”

They looped to the other side, and Rick found himself feeling almost petulant when he realized that Negan’s plan had worked. The majority of the walkers were lumbering over towards where they had been standing, and that left them free to approach up the other side while their pursuers awkwardly circled them. A few of the dead stood idling when they turned the corner, and Negan strolled towards them, hefting Lucille up to his shoulder.

It was the first time Rick saw him dispatch walkers, and loath as he was to admit it to himself, it was impressive. Negan swung Lucille with unconcerned ease, and the dead fell before him like grisly dominoes. More walkers were sliding out from the trees now, attracted by the commotion, and Rick keenly felt his lack of a weapon as they reached the chained gate. One of the approaching walkers was a little fresher, a little faster than the others, and Rick could hear the dull _clack clack clack_ of its snapping jaw as it closed in.

“You can hold ‘em off while I open this, right?” Negan said casually over his shoulder as he pulled a key from his pocket and waved it at Rick.

“I need a weapon, Negan,” Rick replied through gritted teeth, heart pounding as the grey-skinned creature lumbered closer.

Negan clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Nah. You survived this long. You can fucking manage for a few seconds.”

His voice was receding into the background, because now the walker was one staggering stride away. _Just hold it back._ Rick reached out and caught it by the neck, grateful for the thick jacket he was wearing as its rotted fingers scrabbled at his outstretched arm. Its teeth gnashed as it tried to force itself forward. _Hold it back. Hold it back._ His arm was tiring. There was a slow creak of the door swinging open behind him, and he wondered if Negan was going to help him or just let him die this way, bare-handed and helpless against a walker. He couldn’t remember the last thing he said to Carl, but he thought it -

Something flashed in his periphery, and then the walker jerked back, impaled through the eye with a long, rusted piece of metal that looked to be some kind of piping. As he shoved it away, a hand gripped his arm and yanked him back through the narrow opening of the fence. He staggered, struggling to keep his feet. He looked up in time to see Negan slam the gate shut just as grey, rotted fingers groped at the narrow aperture. He threw the bolt with a loud clunk, and the sound brought Rick back to himself. He realized that he was panting, and he bent over with his palms on his knees, trying to ride out the adrenaline roaring through him.

“That shit was _close_ ,” Negan exclaimed from somewhere to his left. “ _Shit_. You were right, sheriff. I’m man enough to admit it.”

Rick just breathed shakily. He realized that Negan was approaching him only a split second before he was just _there_ and far, far too close.

“Makes you hard, doesn’t it? Tussle like that.” Negan’s voice was almost a purr, and it slid over Rick like something alive and grasping.

He jerked himself upright, turning to stare into the eyes of the man now standing practically on top of him. “What are you doin’?” he demanded, voice still husky from his breathlessness.

Negan tilted his head, licking at the corner of his mouth. “I’m tryin’ to see if I can get a fuck out of this, Rick.”

“A - _what_?” Rick asked, disbelieving. He _couldn’t_ have heard him right.

Negan chuckled. “A _fuck_ , Rick. You, me. In this cozy little…what the fuck is it? Weird-ass little yard.”

Rick stared at him. “You’re asking me for sex?” he said slowly.

“Why the hell not? It’s a fact of goddamn life. Almost dyin’ makes you hard.” Negan held his eyes for a moment and then glanced swiftly down, daring Rick to follow. He did, unable to stop himself, and he caught sight of the bulge in the other man’s pants. Rick groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, dropping his head down. Negan chuckled beside him. “What do you say, cowboy?”

Rick looked at him, and icy fingers dug into his heart as he realized the position he was in. “You’re gonna do whatever you want,” he said quietly, “so I don’t know why you’re makin’ a big show of askin’ me.” It was as if he had lit a match and tossed it into a puddle of kerosene, the way rage blazed suddenly up in Negan and rolled off him in suffocating waves. Rick fell back immediately, stunned at it and expecting a blow.

“ _No_ ,” Negan ground out.

Rick gaped him. “Huh?” was all he could manage.

Negan shook his head at him, still glowering. “No, Rick. I don’t do that shit. The _Saviors_ don’t do that shit. It’s against the fucking rules.”

“What is?” Rick asked, still utterly bewildered at the sudden change in the man.

Negan frowned at him. “Rape,” he snarled, and Rick felt a jolt of pure shock.

“Rape is against your rules?” Rick said slowly. He stared at the man in front of him, and suddenly it all came together - he had _offended_ Negan. He had _offended_ the man who had beaten his friends to death in front of him with a smile. He would have laughed if the other man wasn’t still radiating a terrifying fury.

“Of course it fucking is,” Negan snapped.

“You _have_ rules like that? Laws?” Rick asked incredulously, before he could help himself.

Negan rocked back on his heels, glaring. “Jesus, Rick, of course I fucking do. What the fuck are we doing if there aren’t any fucking rules about shit like that? How can we live? How can we build anything? How can we start to bring some fucking civilization back to this shit-show?”

Rick stared, struck completely silent with confusion and surprise. If Negan had grown three heads, it wouldn’t have shocked him as much as all that, and the irony of him lecturing a former cop about the importance of law and order was far from lost on Rick. Again, he could have laughed, but he knew it would not be wise. “Okay,” he said finally. He hoped Negan wasn’t waiting for an actual apology, because he would choke on it given what the man had already taken from him. How could he be angry if Rick just assumed he would take anything at all, if given the chance?

“How about a fucking apology, Rick?”

 _Of fucking course_. “I’m sorry that the way you behaved, the way you murdered my friends in front of me, led me to think you had no morals at all. I guess I was wrong,” Rick snapped, and the more reasonable, more strategic part of him cringed at the overt antagonism of it.

Bizarrely enough, that seemed to satisfy Negan. The rage flew away as quickly as it had alighted. His entire body relaxed, and he stepped forward, eyes hungry, voice velvet again. “All right, then. Now that we understand each other, what do you think about my little proposition?”

Rick stared at him. It was like flicking a light switch how fast that man changed moods. It just wasn’t _natural_. “I think that you’re _insane_ ,” Rick cried, too wrung out and confused to give a damn about the consequences of speaking his mind. “You killed my friends. In front of me.”

“Uh, _duh_ , I did. I was there, Rick, remember?” He stepped back and mimed swinging a bat, winking at Rick, who could only stare, horror and disgust battling for dominance within him. “But what the fuck does that have to do with the price of tea in China? I’m talking about sex. Not taking you to the soda shop for a fuckin’ malt. God, you do remember what sex is about, right? Gettin’ off? Remember that? Or has your dick been out of commission so long you’re fuckin’ _confused_?” He walked around Rick slowly and paused when he was just behind him. Rick tensed in wary anticipation, and when Negan bent his lips close to his ear, a shudder went through his entire body that he couldn’t hide. “I know what I’m doing, Rick. I could make you _feel_ things. I could knock that pissy attitude right out of you. Not _permanently_ , but while I’m inside of you? Mmmm, _honey_ ,” his lips were nearly on Rick’s ear, and his warm breath danced down his neck, “you’ll forget everything else exists.”

Rick was hot, he was tired, and he felt like he was being slowly poisoned by the adrenaline mixed with dread that being out in the open and being this close to Negan provoked in him. And he was aroused. There was no mistaking it and no lying to himself about it. It felt like the devil himself was whispering in his ear, dragging him down to some personal hell of frustrated desire and the self-recrimination that went along with that. _Sins of the flesh, right?_ The confused thought floated idly through his head. He was hot, he was tired, and he was so far away from his life and his friends. He was aroused.

“Fine,” he muttered. Neither of them moved - Rick, head drooping, eyes closed, and Negan behind him, lips at his ear. “I guess I’m insane, too. So please, go ahead and put your filthy fuckin’ hands on me, you goddamned murderer. You’re the only one that wants to touch me, so go the fuck ahead.”

Negan seized his upper arm and spun him around, dark hazel eyes blazing. “That was real fuckin’ rude, Rick,” he seethed. “Are you sure that’s how you wanna talk to me? Here I am being all sweet to you, offerin’ to get your rocks off for you after what sounds like one epic fuckin’ dry spell, and you start in with all that shit? Murderer? You’ve got to be fuckin’ _shitting_ me. _How_ many of my men did you kill again?”

Rick didn’t want to talk about how many men he had killed, Negan’s or otherwise. And if he heard Negan call his own behavior “sweet” one more time, he thought he might start screaming and never stop. So when Negan drew a breath to say something else, Rick couldn’t chance it - he sprang on the other man and crushed his lips against his. Negan stiffened for a moment, and then Rick was being bent over backwards with the force of the other man’s assault on his lips. He nearly lost his balance and was forced to grip the front of his jacket, fingers sinking into the soft leather. That just made them both tumble over onto the ground, Negan landing on Rick who sprawled on his back.

He rose up on his arms to glare down at Rick. “I knew it,” he hissed.

Rick cringed and glared back. “Knew what?”

“I knew you would want me to fuck you, Rick. But see, I already asked you all sweet and friendly, and what do you do? You get a fuckin’ attitude. So now you’re gonna have to beg me for it, you rude-ass motherfucking goody-two-shoes little _bitch_ ,” he spat.

Rick managed to get an arm free, and he swung it at Negan without thinking, landing a vicious strike to his jaw. The other man was knocked clean off him from the force of it, but when Negan rose to his knees, he was _laughing_ , and Rick burned with hatred and rage. “Fuck you,” he cried raggedly, “fuck you, you fucking animal. I will _never_ fucking beg you for that.”

Negan made a motion towards him, and he scrambled to his knees, ready for an attack. Negan paused, licking at the blood that had begun to spill from the corner of his mouth slowly. He saw Rick watching his tongue and grinned at him, blood in his teeth. “You sure about that, Rick?” he whispered softly, mocking him with the caress of his voice.

“I’m sure,” Rick growled. He stripped off his jacket and flung it aside. His hands dropped to his belt, and he undid it swiftly, yanking it away with such violence the leather lashed at him as it hissed free. “If you wanna do this, then let’s do this. But I will _never_ beg you for it.” Lust had overcome Negan’s expression, and a truly vicious satisfaction burned through Rick at that. _I’ve got you now, you fucking monster. I know what you want. I’ve_ got _what you want._

Negan crawled over the dirt towards him, and with the predatory gleam in his eyes, he really did look like an animal closing in on its prey. It took all of Rick’s self-control to hold his ground and not flinch away as Negan drew closer to him. The other man gripped him by the shirt and jerked him forward, and their mouths crashed together painfully. Negan sucked and bit at his lips, his tongue probing between them for entrance. Rick knew what he wanted, and he kept his teeth clenched out of sheer pique.

Negan gave an aggravated growl. “Open your mouth. Open your _fucking_ mouth,” Negan hissed against his lips, and Rick shocked himself by obeying the command almost without thinking. Negan gave a satisfied grunt and seized Rick’s jaw, invading his mouth with a hot, wet tongue.

Heat spread between Rick’s legs, and he had to fight back the dismayed moan that tried to escape his throat. His body was in full revolt against him. His hands were sliding under Negan’s jacket, moving as if they didn’t even belong to him. _Oh, my god. Everything’s gone to hell_ , he thought wonderingly. _You’re in hell, Grimes, and that’s the damn devil you’re feeling on right now_. It didn’t matter; he didn’t stop. Negan was unbuttoning his shirt, and Rick leaned back to give him the space, trying not to think about how obliging he was being. Negan stripped it from him roughly, and as his arms were freed, Rick seized the collar of the man’s jacket again, jerking him back against him. He could feel Negan smirking against his lips as he met them, no doubt darkly amused by the eagerness he was now displaying, and he cringed, humiliated. He turned his face away, and Negan groaned.

“Don’t be a little bitch about this, Rick. You wanna fuck. It’s _fine_ ,” he said, sounding exasperated.

Rick struggled for something to throw back at him in response. Nothing came to him, so he stayed silent, slowly releasing his grip on the soft leather. Somehow that seemed to make Negan angry, and he gripped Rick’s thighs with bruising strength, dragging him forward and putting him sprawling on his back. “You _asshole_ ,” Rick cried, disoriented at the sudden change in position, and Negan smiled coldly at him as he reached for the fastening of his jeans. Rick jerked away instinctively, and Negan drew back, glaring.

“Take those off, Rick. I can’t fuck you through your fucking jeans,” he snapped.

Rick blinked up at him, confused. He had expected Negan to tear them off him, but Rick supposed that the other man found getting his enemy to strip for him far more satisfying. The thought enraged him. He opened his mouth to speak, and he was about to call it off. He _was_. Except that Negan shocked him into silence, yet again, by suddenly falling over Rick and burying his face into his neck. He lapped and nipped over the pulse pounding wildly in Rick’s throat as gloved fingers found a nipple to tease.

Rick bucked against him helplessly. Negan was a wall of solid heat on him, and his traitorous body craved it. Negan's teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his neck almost delicately, and he sank further into a hot haze of pleasure. He was _drowning_ in this. He found himself clutching at Negan’s waist as if he were a life preserver, but he was anything but that - he was the anchor dragging him under. The other man was gone as swiftly as he had descended, and Rick’s eyes flew open, bewildered at the sudden loss.

Negan was undoing his belt, kneeling beside him. He jerked his chin towards Rick’s pants. “Come on. Get ‘em off,” he muttered, and for the second time, Rick obeyed his command without thinking. He kicked off his shoes and slid his pants off, taking his briefs with them and tossing them aside. The cool late-afternoon air embraced him, and it would have been pleasant if he wasn’t lying naked in the dirt, hard as steel for his mortal enemy. He choked back a laugh, and he knew that hysteria was creeping around his edges.

Negan crawled between his legs, and once again Rick had to struggle to keep from flinching away. The other man was digging in his pocket, and he pulled out a small plastic packet. He caught Rick’s puzzled look and winked.

Rick realized suddenly that it was a packet of lube. “You carry that around?” he asked in disbelief.

Negan chuckled above him. For a moment, the teasing smile on his face was just that - teasing. It lacked anything hard or cruel, and Rick caught a glimpse of the man he might have been before the dead rose. “I’m a regular boy scout, son. You know. ‘Always prepared.’” The amusement slid off his face, and the shadow of a former self was gone from him as swiftly as it had appeared.

Rick let his head fall back, unable to hold the other man’s cold, domineering gaze. Not while his thighs were spread for him. He was fighting hard to stay aloof as anxiety thrummed through him, mixing queasily with the arousal, but when Negan reached between his legs he couldn’t suppress the nervous jerk his body gave. He expected fingers to slam into him, and he braced himself. When he realized it wasn’t happening, he lifted his head and stared up at Negan above him.

“You want this, Rick? You need to fucking tell me,” Negan growled, his fingers rubbing lightly over the soft pucker of his flesh.

Rick felt anger surge in him, and he was about to lay into the man again when he caught something in the dark hazel of his eyes. Something sincere. Something waiting for a spoken confirmation, not as a mockery, but as _permission_. His mind raced, fitting it all together, and suddenly there it was. Utter certainty.

Negan had ground him into the dirt, made him beg and sob, made him swear he was his, that all his people were his, that everything he would do would be for _him_ , but all of that stopped at the borders of the strange new territory they had wandered into together. It was a safe-zone, as strange an oasis as the enclosure they lay in, where nothing would be taken from Rick that he didn’t give freely. Because it was against Negan’s _rules_ , and even the barest suggestion that it might not be had turned the man incandescent with rage.

 _Well, how about that_ , Rick marveled. He actually _liked_ him a little for it, to his consternation. Maybe Negan wasn’t exactly the worst thing the apocalypse had spat out onto the world, not that he was planning on telling him that.

The man glared down at him. “You still with us, asshole?”

Rick snorted, head falling back, staring at the grey sky above them. “Yeah. Just do it, Negan,” he muttered. Fingers slid over his entrance and paused, as if allowing more time for Rick to reconsider. That made him like him a little more, and _that_ made him very, very angry. “Hurry the fuck up, we don’t have all damn day,” he snapped, and Negan’s fingers sank into him, making him gasp at the sudden invasion. It burned even as his body responded to being stroked from within, and Rick sucked a breath through his teeth, feeling his cock twitch.

“Since you fucking _insist_ , Rick,” Negan growled, his glare blistering, and Rick’s hand involuntarily shot out and gripped Negan’s forearm through his jacket. The fingers stilled, apparently mistaking the sudden grasp for a protest.

“No, don’t stop,” Rick heard himself say, and horrified shame burned in his chest. He froze, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the mocking flood of Negan’s words to overwhelm him. The fingers moved slowly within him again, but Negan was silent, and Rick dared to hope that he was going to _let it the fuck go_ for once and maybe keep his mouth shut as a bonus. He was wrong on the latter point, of course.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a nice, hard fuck, Rick?” he asked, voice low. “Because that’s how you like to fuck, isn’t it? Nice and hard? Yeah, I can tell, John Wayne. Stomping around with that fucking look on your face and your teeth grinding. You wanna sink those teeth right into me, don’t you?” The fingers dancing in him brushed over something, and Rick’s entire body snapped like a rubber band as a deep, wrenching moan escaped his throat. Negan laughed, dark and menacing, above him. “Ooh, _cowboy_. Aren’t you in a fuckin’ predicament? Big, bad Negan is working you _just_ right. What would the good people of Alexandria say?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Rick managed hoarsely.

“ _No_ ,” Negan replied, voice suddenly sinister-soft, “I don’t think I will, _Rick_. See, I’m making you mad right now, and I can feel the way that makes you clench all around me - _fuck_ , are you gonna squeeze my dick like that when I put it inside you?” He laughed, and it burned Rick like acid. “I really fucking hope so, Ricky boy.”

Rick groped for something, anything to throw back at him, but he couldn’t _think_ with those wicked fingers in him. He settled on tightening his grip on Negan’s arm, praying that it was enough to bruise the bastard, as he fought back the whimpers that wanted to escape him every time Negan pressed into that spot that made him jerk like a marionette on a string. The fingers finally withdrew, and Rick heard a zipper’s metallic hiss. He felt his face get hot; god _damn_ it, he was prone to blushing during sex, and now was a bad fucking time for it. Negan slapped him hard, high up on his thigh, and Rick’s eyes shot open in shock and irritation. “What the _fuck_ , Negan?”

He smiled coldly down at him. “Turn over, cowboy, it’s show-time. Get on your fucking knees for me, the way you’re so good at.”

Choler choked Rick, and it was a moment before he could find his voice. “No,” he spat, and Negan shot him a look of pure exasperation. Rick bent his knees, pulling them closer to his chest. “Like this is _fine_. Not from behind.”

Negan sneered at him. “You wanna look into my eyes while I fuck you, Rick?” he crooned mockingly, and Rick cringed, furious. Of _course_ the other man would find some way to make this into surrender. Negan leaned over him and pressed the slick head of his cock against the soft flesh at Rick’s core. Rick flinched in spite of himself, and Negan laughed, the sound of it pure menace. “Don’t be scared, darlin’, you’re gonna fucking love it.“ He had breached him before Rick could come up with a retort, and Rick’s head snapped back so hard his neck screamed in protest. _Fuck_. _Fuuuuck_. Negan felt rock-hard and _huge_ inside him, and pleasure burned through him alongside pain. Then Negan’s hand gripped his cock, and he almost screamed. “That’s right, Rick,” Negan’s words barely filtered through the haze of pounding, screaming, pure sensation he was suddenly adrift in. “You _take_ it. Take my dick, _sheriff_.”

“Shut _up_ ,” he almost shrieked. His face and chest burned, and a viciously delighted laugh sounded above him.

“Holy shit, are you _blushin_ ’, princess? Does getting fucked in the ass make you _blush_? Isn’t that just fucking _precious_.” Negan’s savage laughter rolled over him, and he wanted nothing more than to strangle him in that moment. He was sure he would have if the other man’s cock working into him wasn’t leaving him undone and panting, rocky soil digging into his back as writhed in it. Negan gave his cock a firm, skillful stroke, and he let out a sobbing cry that made him want to die of shame right then. His entire body contracted with the pleasure of it, and Negan’s slow, pained, answering groan above him mollified him somewhat. “Damn, baby. Feels like a fucking bear trap on my dick. I knew you would be tight as _hell_.” Negan sank deeper, and Rick found himself instinctively drawing his knees up higher for him.

There was a part of him, of course, that was nearly rabid with self-loathing and disgust. There was another part of him, the significantly larger part of him just now, that didn’t give a single fuck about that, or about anything. This life was cold, it was bleak, and it was more brutal by the day. Rick’s body hadn’t felt this unutterably, sinfully, _spectacularly_ good in ages, and _goddamn_ it was nice to feel something other than pain or hunger, no matter who he was feeling it with. He knew that was the sex talking; he knew he would mentally scourge himself for this later, but right now? Right now he wanted this more than anything, and he was going to fucking let himself _have_ it.

He wrapped his legs around Negan’s waist tightly, drawing him in closer, and his hands slid over the other man’s thighs, squeezing the flesh there. The shock on Negan’s face was _delightful_ , and Rick almost laughed. Instead he tightened his muscles around Negan’s cock where it was finally fully sheathed inside him, and the other man cried out in breathless pleasure, fingers biting into Rick’s hips. Negan rewarded him with renewed slow, delicious strokes over his throbbing length as he began to rock himself shallowly into him, and Rick felt nearly delirious with the pleasure of it.

“ _Negan_ ,” he moaned breathlessly, and dark eyes flashed down to his, shock written in their depths again. _Yeah_ , Rick thought, dark satisfaction rolling through him in a wave. _That’s right. I’ve got you now, don’t I?_

It was almost as if Negan _heard_ him, because he leaned forward, eyes burning into his, lips twisting in a sneer. “I _knew_ it,” was all he said, but somehow that gave him back the upper hand, and Rick glared up at him in helpless rage. Negan gripped his hip with his free hand as he sped up until he was slamming into him with near-bruising force, sending bolts of pleasure laced with pain shooting straight through him. Rick arched into the dirt, thighs clamped around Negan’s waist, struggling to breathe through the onslaught. He was on the brink of coming when Negan’s hand dropped away from his cock. “Say my name again, Rick,” he panted, not letting up one bit on his brutal thrusting, and a bead of sweat ran down his throat and disappeared into his collar. “Say it the way you just said it, like it’s the only thing you want in this shitty freak-show of a world.”

Rick shook his head violently, not trusting himself to speak at all. Negan glared. He tilted Rick’s hips up, and now his cock was sliding right over against that sensitive spot deep inside him. Rick let out a helpless whimper in spite of himself, too overwhelmed by the ruthless pleasure Negan was pounding into him to even drag in the breath for a louder cry. The second, the _second_ he drew close again, Negan stilled inside him.

 _You asshole_ , Rick wanted to scream, but he was shaking and panting too hard for it. Negan began to move against him again, keeping well away from his prostate. When Rick realized what he was doing, he lifted his head and stared in horrified disbelief. Negan answered him with a diabolical smile, and Rick dropped his head back again, exhausted. Every thrust seemed to force a ragged breath from his lungs, but it wasn’t _enough_. Rick was right on the edge of his breaking point and unable to make it over without a final push. How long could Negan keep up this kind of torture? He _had_ to be tiring, and it would be a matter of who broke first.

Rick broke first, to his rage and humiliation.

“Negan, _please_ ,” he wailed, and he only had a moment to take in the savage triumph in the man’s dark eyes before his hand was on him, and he shot straight up into outer space. Everything else around him was obliterated as he rode out an orgasm so intense it felt dangerous. He didn’t know how long he was gripped by it. Maybe he actually passed out. When the world around him faded back into focus, he was still sprawled on his back, aware of sticky, warm wetness inside him and between his thighs.

 _Oh, good_ , he thought. _Here it comes_. And it came on cue, shame that almost crushed the breath out of him. Negan was sitting beside him, facing away, his back an expanse of black leather. It was as if he sensed him looking.

“Hell of a nut, huh?” he said casually. Rick stared at his back, and the shame burned so hard and hot through him that for a single moment of breath-taking horror he thought he was going to cry. In front of _Negan_. After he let him fuck him like an animal in the dirt. Rick got control of himself with difficulty, drawing a deep, slow breath. Negan turned to glance at Rick over his shoulder, looking so cool and unruffled that anger blossomed back up in Rick, blessedly chasing away some of the shame and sadness. He looked away, swallowing, and pushed himself up onto his hands, his hips immediately protesting the movement. To his embarrassment, his arms shook as he tried to brace himself to sit.

“Steady, cowboy,” Negan said, but the words lacked venom.

“We need to get back,” Rick muttered, head still turned away from the man beside him.

“Yep. You gonna put your clothes back on?” Again, the words had no real sting, and Rick wondered at that a little as he grabbed for his clothes, flushing. Something landed beside him with a soft noise against the dry grass, and he looked at it, startled. Negan had tossed him a small packet of tissues. He picked it up slowly, eyes on the man who had gone silent again beside him. _What is this, now?_ he thought apprehensively. He didn't trust Negan's silence.

He cleaned himself up and dressed quickly, newly sore muscles aching in protest. _I’m going to limp back into Alexandria_ , Rick realized, and the thick, hot shame came sliding back. _I hope to god they think he just beat on me_. His fingers flew over his shirt, buttoning swiftly, and when he got to the bottom there was a single button left over, mocking him. He huffed in frustration, and he thought about leaving it for a moment before it occurred to him that a badly-rebuttoned shirt might strike someone as incriminating. He unbuttoned it and rebuttoned it carefully, and _still_ Negan was silent beside him. His familiar dread of him began to trickle coldly back in. For the first time since they had met, Rick actually found himself wishing the other man would say _something_.

He realized he was still missing his belt and remembered that he had practically thrown it aside. He cursed his earlier self and began to grope in the dirt for it. His fingers finally brushed over worn leather in the dry grass, and he almost sighed aloud in relief. Now _that_ would be incriminating - returning home missing a belt. As he seized it and pulled, the sound of metal scraping faintly over metal caught his attention. He crawled over to where the buckle lay and sank his fingers into the dry, dusty earth. He immediately hit something smooth, cold, and unyielding.

“Negan,” he called. He clawed the dirt away, revealing the dull gleam of steel. It was a small, square door, set down in the ground. Rick sat back on his heels, surprised even though it had been the first thought he had when Negan described a fenced-in patch of nothing in the middle of nowhere. _Shit. There_ is _something underground._

Negan’s black-clad legs moved into his periphery. “Those lazy fucking bastards,” he muttered. “Fucking knew it.”

Rick glanced at him, taking in the snarl that sat on his lips as he glowered down at the metal panel, and he felt a faint stab of pity for whoever would be on the other end of that wrath. “It was buried a little,” he offered, shrugging. He grasped the handle and pulled the door open. A metal ladder disappeared into the darkness.

Negan bent and banged his fist against the side of the door, the sound echoing dully. Nothing stirred beneath, and he groped in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a small flashlight. He handed it to Rick. “Lead the way, sheriff.”

Rick took the light and shone it into the darkness. He could see the grey concrete of the floor ten or so feet beneath. He angled the beam of light around as best he could, but he couldn’t see much at this angle. There was no movement, at least, so after a moment he turned and climbed onto the ladder, descending carefully. He paused after a few feet and used the light to illuminate his surroundings.

It was what appeared to be a small bunker. There were at least ten tall shelving units lining either side of it, absolutely overflowing with goods. Rick had not seen such a large amount of untouched supplies in ages, and he stared in frank amazement. He caught sight of an electric camping lantern on the floor a few feet away from the ladder, and he finished climbing down and moved towards it, dropping to his knees. After a moment of running his fingers over it searchingly, he found a small switch, and the room flooded with light.

“Well, fuck,” Negan commented behind him, and Rick jumped a little - he had hardly registered him climbing down the ladder after him, and the man’s voice seemed louder in the enclosed, concrete-lined space. “This is some Cold War _shit_. I’ll bet the poor bastard or bastardette who had this thing put together was scared of nukes. Doesn’t that shit make you laugh these days? I wonder where they ended up. Probably couldn’t get up here in time when everything started to go tits over ass.”

Rick stood and shivered slightly, feeling a surprisingly strong rush of sympathy for the faceless would-be survivor. He couldn’t imagine watching the world crumble around him with the bitter knowledge that he had prepared for it in vain.

“Oh, hell, look at _this_ ,” Negan said delightedly, stepping around Rick and walking to the opposite edge of the bunker. He flopped down on a narrow military-style cot, and it gave a creak of protest. “Too bad we didn’t find this shit sooner. I could have fucked you on an actual bed instead of out in nature. Spared you getting fucked down into twigs and shit.”

“That’s real gentlemanly of you,” Rick returned drily before he could stop himself, and he was surprised once again at the lack of cruelty in the teasing grin that met him in response. Looking the way he did now, with his dimples peeking out of the dark scruff on his cheeks and his eyes sparkling in his handsome face, Negan seemed like an entirely different man. Rick found himself wondering again if he was looking into the past. He was startled out of his thoughts when he realized that Negan had risen and was walking towards him, and he stepped back instinctively, his back meeting the wall. He stared, not quite comprehending as Negan tilted his head down to his.

He was _kissing_ him, lips sliding over his, tongue dipping into his mouth. They had been kissing earlier, of course, but it was a build-up to fucking. This felt different, and Rick was utterly disoriented. Negan slid an arm around him and pressed a hand to the small of his back. _He’s insane._ The familiar thought drifted through his head. He was just insane enough to hold him and kiss him like they were on a date. Like he had never murdered his friends while he watched. Never used the threat of killing his son to break him.

Negan pulled back slightly, aware of the lack of reciprocation. “No?” he asked quietly, lips still hovering close. “All right, then.” He turned to stand beside Rick, and the hand at his back slid up to grasp his shoulder. “Five percent,” he announced, sweeping his arm as if he were speaking to an audience.

Rick stared. He still felt half-frozen in shock, but his tongue loosened enough to say, “Huh?”

“Five percent, Rick. Finder’s fee. You found the door, so fair’s fair. There’s ten of these, so that’s half of the shit on one of ‘em. Not too fucking shabby. I’ll send someone down to drop them off, and cross my heart I won’t touch any of it next pick-up.”

Rick lifted a hand to rub at his mouth, collecting himself. He hated the tiny throb of gratitude that he felt - if this had been any kind of real run with an actual partner, he would say Alexandria was entitled to half of the entire haul, not a few shelves. That he felt any kind of gratitude at all to Negan throwing him a crumb just showed him how fully the other man had subjugated him, and he fought the swell of resentment and fury with near-desperation. _You get angry, he won’t even give you that_ , he warned himself. _He might even decide to come down to Alexandria and tear into us a little more, so you just stop it_. _Stop it, Grimes_. “Thank you,” he forced out, and he cringed at how hollow and insincere it sounded.

Negan’s gaze slid over him, and Rick could swear it actually felt hot. “You don’t think that’s fair,” Negan said softly, and apprehension sped up Rick’s heart. “But fair is what I say it is, Rick.” He pinched his cheek and then slapped it lightly. “Come on, darlin’. Give me a fucking smile. Think about it - you made out like a bandit today. A good dicking down _and_ a nice little haul for your band of merry assholes?”

Rick hung his head and stared at the floor. He wanted to hold on to the affronted rage that had blossomed in him a moment ago, but it bled out of him at Negan’s words. How could he be angry at Negan for pointing the truth at him like a loaded gun? Hadn’t he _just_ given in to him? Hadn’t he stripped off his own clothes, spread his own legs, and arched his own hips up to receive what he gave him? _A good dicking down._ His cheeks burned with humiliation, and he sagged against the wall, suddenly listless and miserable. “It’s getting late,” he ventured finally. “We don’t wanna try and make it back to the truck in the dark. Seemed like a lot of walkers left out there.”

Silence met him, and Rick cringed, waiting for it - something cruel, something that cut deep. This time, at least, it didn’t come.

“All right,” Negan answered after a moment, “go on up, then. Let’s get you back to mama’s house before curfew.”

—

Negan whistled the entire way back to Alexandria. Rick watched him in wary silence for a while before giving up and leaning his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. He thought he was going to have to endure his taunting the entire ride back to town, and he wouldn’t look the gift of silence - _relative_ silence, anyway - in the mouth. He actually almost dozed, as absurd as that was. Dozing next to a goddamn lit stick of dynamite. It was hardly the strangest thing he had done that day. When he saw the gates of Alexandria looming in the distance, the relief that flooded him almost hurt. The truck rolled to a slow halt, and when Negan finally spoke again, it startled Rick as badly as his initial silence had.

“When are we going _scavenging_ again together, Rick?” Negan asked quietly, and Rick’s head snapped around, eyes wide and shocked in his face.

 _Oh, no. No, no, no, no_. Rick was violently shaking his head in time with his thoughts, and Negan watched him, looking coldly amused. “We’re not doin’ this again,” Rick said, and as soon as he heard his own voice, throaty and with the slightest, barest quiver, he knew better. They _would_ do this again, and now Negan was smiling at him, a knife-edge of menace in it, his dark eyes knowing.

“Whatever you say, sheriff,” Negan said, his tone almost caressing, and then his lips pulled back from his teeth, _wolf’s_ teeth ready to tear him to shreds, as he laughed. Its mocking echo followed Rick as he nearly fell from the truck in his haste to get away from him.

He jogged to the gates of Alexandria, rapping urgently on them. It was dusk, and as he stood illuminated in the headlights, it felt like he was in a spotlight of Negan’s making. He pressed his palm into the cold metal, feeling Negan’s gaze burning a hole into his back, the truck rumbling behind him in idle menace. He nearly fell through the gate when it opened, and he hastily slammed it shut behind him with a loud, dull, echoing clang.

As if that would make a damn bit of difference.

As if those walls wouldn’t shiver to pieces, just like he had today in his brutal embrace, if Negan decided to huff and puff and blow them down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll never be more than a wolf at your door…for dinner. Title is from the lyrics to Phildel’s “The Wolf.”


	2. Empire of Dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Johnny Cash's "Hurt," a song designed to make you cry into a glass of whiskey. Heavy angst here.

Ever since that night in the woods, Rick had dreaded the moment that the next blow would fall. For all his talk of _fair_ and _rules_ and _your end of the bargain, Rick,_ Negan was a man apparently defined by bottomless appetite. No subjugation was low enough, no humiliation keen enough, no misery deep enough to stop him from coming back to tear a little more skin off the backs of those unlucky enough to cross him. The certainty of that had bloomed icily in Rick's heart as he watched him bring his bat down again and again and again and again on the pinky-red gristle that was all that remained of the head of a man who had once saved his life.

He was not sated by his death. He was not sated by crushing his head in. He went on until he was _nothing_ , and there was nothing left to take.

As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, as much as he wanted to make this all _work_ so that he could protect his family, Rick knew deep in his heart that that was how it was going to be. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but Negan would take more from them. From him.

He just never could have predicted _what_ he would seek to take. From the moment he had returned from his fateful outing with the man, it felt like a piece of something vital had been wrenched from him. He thought at first it was just his pride, but it was more visceral than that. Something had been breached deep inside where his essential self sat - if he put any kind of stock in spiritual ideas anymore, which he didn’t, he would have called it his soul. Shame dogged him like something alive and vengeful, and he felt like a ghost moving through what remained of his life after it had crashed up against Negan and his Saviors. The memory of how the other man's hands had felt on his skin was never far from him, and when it intruded on his conscious thought, his body thrilled to it even as his heart sank like lead in his chest. He didn’t know himself anymore. He certainly didn’t know his body.

He dared to hope he wouldn’t be there when the next pick-up day came, but of _course_ he was. He and Rosita had gone up together to meet the Saviors at the gate, and Rick’s feet stopped moving when he saw the familiar silhouette. Rosita gave his shoulder a rough squeeze as she passed. Who knows what she thought had caused his steps to falter - probably just the horror of confronting the man who had brutally murdered her ex-lover. _What would she think of me if she knew?_ As soon as the thought rose up from the depths of his mind, he tasted bile.

Rosita rolled the gate open, and the rising sun behind Negan lengthened his shadow as it spilled into the borders of Alexandria, pulling it long and spidery. Rick blinked, and he was suddenly in front of him, like the confused shifting of scenes from a dream.

“ _Rick_ ,” he purred, and Rick looked at him with dull horror - that had sounded far too intimate to his ears. It sounded like an open announcement of what they had done. He looked anxiously around for Rosita and saw that she was some distance away, locking up the gate and striding after the gaggle of Saviors.

She threw him a sharp nod. “I got it,” she muttered, and she gave his arm the barest tap with her index finger as she passed. They were all doing that lately - touching each other a lot more. Rick wasn’t sure whether it was just comfort enacted on the level of instinct, as if their shared grief had brought their animal brains to the surface, or whether it was also an assurance that they, and the world around them, were still _real_. Rick didn’t feel that he was. Not since that last pick-up day.

“I gotta say, _Rick_ ,” he began, saying his name that alarming way again, like it was a sordid secret they shared, “you look like about ten miles of rough road.”

Rick finally looked up at him, and _he_ didn’t look like ten miles of rough road - he looked like he always did. Sleek and easy and _well_ , like the satisfied apex predator that he was. A week ago that would have enraged him; today, it just made him feel more exhausted by comparison. “Long runs,” he said simply. It was partially true. Scaring up enough for the Saviors’ weekly reaping was an arduous task, one that stretched them to their limit. Beyond that, though, sleep had been poisoned by the man in front of him. In the hushed night, alone in his bed, the conjuration of memory was inescapable; his body came alive with it. And he _hated_ it - he hated it enough that it kept him awake and nearly rabid with fury and self-loathing.

Negan was searching his eyes and face silently, and although it was irrational, insane, the insistent thought blared in Rick’s mind - _he knows_. _He knows you’ve been lying awake at night, remembering what he felt like inside you._ “Long runs,” Negan mused finally. “Yeah. They wind you up pretty tight, don’t they? Having to be on red alert all the goddamn time, just waiting for a walker to pop out of nowhere and bite off a piece. That’s the dead, though, that’s a _good_ goddamn day - you run into the living out there, all bets are fucking off, right?” Negan tilted his head and looked at him through his dark lashes. “Find anything good?”

“No,” Rick answered, mouth dry. Negan’s eyes were so much more vivid and complex this close up, the shifting colors of lakewater churning murkily in a storm. “Not much. Everywhere we hit was already cleaned out, mostly.”

Negan scoffed. “That’s how it happens. Out all day, fuck-all to show for it. That’s why scavenging is for fucking suckers, Rick,” he chuckled with no attempt to disguise the derision. “It fucking blows. That’s why it’s so goddamn good to be me. I just have all you little worker bees to deal with that shit for me now. Take me on the walking tour, sheriff,” he went on pleasantly, as if he hadn’t just been openly mocking the people he had all but enslaved, “I really haven’t seen enough of suburbia.”

Rick turned without comment, making his way down the road for Negan to follow. Even now, with Negan beside him in the flesh again just as he had been dreading, the unreal quality that had hovered over him for the past week would not lift. Everything felt like a dream - even the man’s taunting. Negan began to whistle beside him, and he shuddered. After a moment, he realized they were not quite alone. He glanced over his shoulder and took in the pretty, grim-faced young woman who was dogging their steps.

The whistling stopped. “Don’t worry about Arat, Rick. She just keeps me out of trouble.”

Rick brought his gaze back to the road before them. _Bodyguard._ There had been no bodyguard when they went out to the bunker in the woods. It dawned on Rick at that exact moment - even though it was obvious, even though he should have been able to put it together right away - that Negan had planned all along to try his hand at seducing him that day. Not only that, he had been fairly sure he was going to succeed. He couldn’t help but turn his head to stare at the other man, nearly breathless with the thought that he could have anticipated Rick’s willingness to fuck him after he had dragged him through hell, _laughing_ as he did.

“What? What’s _that_ fucking look about?”

“Nothin’,” Rick returned immediately, turning his head away.

Negan gave a low, taunting laugh beside him. “ _Nothin’_ , he says. My ass, sheriff. What I wouldn’t give for a little peek into that pretty head you got. I’ll bet you’re thinkin’ all _kinds_ of things. Thinkin’ about how you’d like to kill me, first of all - oh, I _know_ you are. How d’you wanna do it? Gun? Fuck, I hope you have more imagination than that. That shit is _boring_. Knife, maybe. Now that’s got some fucking poetry to it, baby, am I right?” He grinned at him like it was a joke they were sharing. “Or maybe you’d just like to wrap those hands around my throat and _squeeze_.” His voice dropped to a suggestive growl on the last word, and he leaned in close enough that it hit the side of his face in a soft, warm, caressing breath. He pulled back, howling a laugh that caused heads to snap towards them from the townspeople anxiously hovering in the distance.

The Alexandrians generally gave the Saviors, and their leader in particular, a wide berth. Rick was grateful for that, and he applauded the instinct. It was harder for anyone to fall victim to the capricious malice that permeated these visits if they just stayed out of reach. He was doubly grateful no one was close enough to hear the indecent insinuation in Negan’s every other word. Even Arat was out of earshot - she was close enough to be dangerous to anyone foolish enough to give assassination a try, but she was not quite close enough to eavesdrop on her boss.

“Rick,” Negan sighed after a silent moment. “Jesus, fuck you, Rick. You’re really gonna do this again? You’re gonna make me beg you to talk? Say one goddamn thing. Just one.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say to all that, Negan,” Rick said wearily.

“I just want you to tell me what you’ve been _thinking_ , Rick. We covered the killing part, what else? Should I guess?” Negan pretended to think it over for a moment. “Are you thinking about how good it would feel if I take you up into one of those houses, lay you down on a bed, real _gentleman-like_ , and work you nice and slow?” Negan licked his lips slowly, and the wet sheen his tongue left caught the sunlight. “This would be the part that requires an answer, Rick.”

Rick turned his head to stare at him again, feeling shock begin to trickle through his dull, dreamy haze, chilling him like ice-water. “What? _Here?_ In town?” He knew this was coming, but he thought Negan would take him out beyond the walls again. The thought of him touching him, stripping him, sliding deep into his body _here_ , in his town, where his friends had walked and laughed until Lucille had drunk her fill of them, horrified him. He was sure that Negan knew it.

_Not satisfied, never satisfied. Always trying to take a little bit more._

“Why the hell not? Hell of a lot more comfortable than rolling around in the fucking dirt. Is that one empty?” He pointed Lucille, and Rick followed his gaze.

“Yeah, but…it’s locked,” Rick said quietly.

“Locked?” Negan echoed. He approached the house and threw a wide-eyed, mock innocent look over his shoulder before kicking the door in with a loud, sharp crack. He spun back to face Rick, beaming. “Not anymore!” He swaggered in without waiting, and Rick trailed after him a moment later.

It was Reg and Deanna’s house.

Negan whistled softly as he took in the high ceilings, the heavy furniture - all the signifiers of the family’s royal blue blood, nearly all spilled out now. “Shit. This is some bougie shit, Rick. If any of these houses went for less than a few million on the market before the dead started walking, I’ll deep-throat Lucille.” He bounded up the stairs, and Rick followed him, caught between wanting to protest and already feeling defeated. “Here we fucking _go_ \- get in here, Rick!”

Rick obeyed the summons, steps heavy. Some distant part of him registered the fact that Arat was not following - she had stayed outside the house. _She knows_ , he thought grimly. He turned into an open doorway and found himself in a large, airy, gracefully-appointed bedroom. His stomach soured. “Negan…”

The other man surged forward and gripped him by the arm, practically dragging him into the room. Lucille had been set aside on a dresser, and one of her sharp, silvery teeth was just kissing a wedding photograph. Negan spun Rick around before he could speak, pointing him towards the bed and pressing in, hot and close, behind him. “See? That’s what I’m fucking talking about. I’ll bet that shit is pillow-topped.”

Rick stared at the king-sized bed. It was done up in snowy white and piled high with satin-trimmed pillows. Rick thought of Deanna carefully fingering the bedspread in some high-end department store, and his chest throbbed painfully. He felt Negan’s breath on his neck a split second before his lips followed, and every muscle in him weakened slightly. He desperately tried to hold on to himself. “Not here,” Rick managed in a hoarse whisper. “We shouldn’t…be in the town. Be in this house. They’ll hear us.” The words felt like mismatched puzzle pieces. They were all part of the same panicked idea, but they didn’t quite fit together - didn’t quite tell the story in his mind. Rick waited for Negan to bite back at him, to mock his incoherence.

Instead, he pressed a kiss behind his jaw. “There’s no one here but us, Rick,” Negan murmured, relaxing his hold on Rick’s arms and sliding up to his shoulders to knead the tense muscles there firmly.

That felt nice, very unexpectedly so, and Rick had to struggle mightily to try again. “They could hear. They’re…they’re outside…”

“No one’s outside except for Arat, and her _job_ is to keep people from fucking sneaking up on me,” Negan whispered, lips barely brushing the shell of his ear. “No one’s gonna fucking know, Rick. Just you and me. So which is it? Yes or no?”

His own breathing was monstrously loud in his own ears. His traitor flesh was responding to the warm, hard body behind him.

_In Alexandria? In this house? In this bed?_

Nausea burned in his stomach and clawed up his throat, but it didn’t touch the heat gathering between his legs. “Yes,” Rick whispered finally, and a part of him wilted with grief.

He braced himself to be grabbed, thrown, taken, but none of those things happened. Instead, Negan reached slowly around him, ghosting his fingers over him from his belly to his chest to his throat. Rick swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling like he was tearing at the seams from anticipation and arousal. The fingers slid over his stubbled jaw and turned his head towards his shoulder with the lightest touch, tilting it up.

 _What the hell is this?_ Rick thought, bewildered. He heard the stiff-sounding rustle of leather as Negan leaned down towards him. He could feel the other man’s breath fanning lightly across his face.

“Rick,” he said coaxingly, and Rick closed the distance between their lips as if he had been compelled by that single sound. Negan smirked into their kiss, and his hands immediately flitted to the buttons of Rick’s shirt, undoing them rapidly.

Despair rose up in him, cold and aching. He had fallen so easily. So, so easily. Out there and now in here. Was there nothing substantial left in him? Had Negan already hollowed him out so completely that all he could do was splinter and collapse before him like a rotted-out tree? _Is that all it took to knock the fucking fight out of you, Rick?_ The fog cleared a bit, enough for Rick to turn his face from Negan’s kiss. “Wait,” he croaked. He pulled away and walked to the dresser. Deanna and Reg beamed up at him, deliriously happy on their wedding day. Rick reached out and gently placed the frame face-down, away from Lucille’s silver thorns. “I knew these people,” he said in a hushed tone. His shirt was hanging open, and he stripped it off slowly, letting it fall to the floor.

“They dead now?” Negan asked, watching him with his head cocked like a curious dog.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry,” he said breezily, not sounding sorry at all. “But at least we don’t have to feel bad about what we’re gonna do to their sheets.”

Rick closed his eyes, feeling a slow wave of sadness crest in him. Deanna had had a refined dignity. She would have been appalled at the crass disrespect of that. “Negan,” he whispered in weary reproach.

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Negan, you’re an asshole.’ You know what, Rick? Your dead friends don’t care. Know why? They can’t _hear_ me being an asshole, ‘cause they’re _dead_.”

Rick was about to turn and unleash the flood of welcome, aggrieved fury that had risen in him at that. He was about to tell him to get out of his _dead friends’_ house, but Negan was behind him suddenly, startling him.

One arm went around his waist as the other wrapped around his shoulders, and he shivered involuntarily as Negan murmured hotly in his ear, “Stop taking everything so goddamned _hard_ , baby. It’s fucking exhausting, isn’t it?” Negan rubbed slowly down his belly to the swelling in his jeans, cupping him. “Just let it go. You’re here with me now. I’m gonna fuck you on this bed, and you’re gonna fucking love it. Let the other shit go.”

 _Easy for you to say,_ Rick thought, but his anger, his resentment was suddenly elusive. A wistful sadness had taken over, born from the confused tangle of feelings - Deanna and Reg, who had both believed the world was as good as it looked from behind their walls, both dead. Dead before they fully knew the enemies lurking so close to those walls, before they knew the subjugation coming to Alexandria in the form of a post-apocalyptic warlord in a leather jacket. _Stop taking everything so goddamned hard._ Deanna and Reg, and Tyreese, and Noah, and Beth, and Shane, Lori, Dale, Andrea, Hershel. Glenn and Abraham. Dead friends. He felt tears prickle behind his eyes.

 _Don’t you fucking dare,_ he howled at himself, furious, _don’t you fucking dare cry in front of this man_. _Not again._

He reached down and unbuckled his belt, wrist brushing Negan’s forearm. He let it fall at their feet and went for the fastening of his jeans.

Negan hummed in his ear. “Need me somewhere, Rick?” He gave him a light squeeze through the rough fabric, and Rick’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Right where you are,” he replied in a strained whisper, sliding his hand over Negan’s and guiding it into his open pants. Teeth tugged sharply at his ear.

“Look who’s taking the fucking lead,” Negan growled, sounding pleased.

Rick decided that there was no real response to that, so he settled his head back on Negan’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He let him strip him, and he drifted back into the fog.

—

Negan wasn’t sure exactly when his fascination had begun. He was just aware of it. At every pick-up, every encounter with Mr. Rick Grimes, that colossal pain in his ass. The man who had racked up the highest body count of Saviors in recent memory and who _seethed_ in his presence like that killer inside him was even now only barely leashed. Every time he saw those startling blue eyes and obnoxiously, outrageously pretty face, he was aware of just how badly he wanted to fuck him, to take him apart in a wholly different way than he had on their first encounter. He supposed _that_ was when it had started - right at the fucking beginning. Rick reduced to sobs and pleas, obeying his every word with a bewildered desperation…yeah, he had been fucking _intriguing_ on his knees. The memory of those ocean-blue eyes on him that night, enormous and supplicating in his pale face, made him so fucking _hard_. He wasn’t proud of that, but it wasn’t his fault Rick was so _beautiful_ when fully unraveled.

Now that all that unpleasant shit was out of the way, now that Alexandria was producing and everyone knew the penalty for getting murdery thoughts about him and his Saviors, there was really no reason not to follow-up on that intrigue with lovely-eyed Rick. Negan supposed some people might find it a little insane to proposition someone after offing a couple of his buddies, but the entire world had gone insane. Death was around every goddamn corner. It stalked the living, literally, in the form of the shambling corpses crawling over the blighted earth, and it made people desperate, crazy, and horny as hell. Rick hated him, would kill with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart, but Negan had a feeling. He had caught flashes of something tangled up in the hatred and fury that usually simmered in Rick’s eyes as they followed him, and his intuition said that it was nothing other than that delicious and deadly sin so near to his own heart: _lust_.

Negan knew to trust his intuition. It had gotten him this far, anyway. It was what had told him that killing the pale, earnest young man whose eyes never wavered from that beautiful girl, the one who looked like she was pounding on death’s door, would hurt the assembled strangers the most. _Maggie, I’ll find you_ \- fucking brutal, and he had seen immediately how it had _gutted_ them. Well done, intuition. It was what had told him that being forced to maim his son would shatter Rick Grimes like fine-spun glass, and it had been one-hundred-fucking-percent on the nose for that one, too. Of course, he had put a stop to that shit when he was satisfied that Rick _would_ do it - he wasn’t a monster. He hoped that’s how Rick saw things, anyway, because he was going to take him out on a _date_.

Or at least, he thought it might be a date. It was either that, or they were going to have themselves one hell of a knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of the goddamn woods. Maybe one or both of them would even be killed! Who the fuck knew with Mr. Not-Today-Not-Tomorrow? But his intuition turned out to be right again. It wasn’t easy, but it still all turned out just like he wanted - Rick on his back, thighs apart, telling him _yes_. And that surprising motherfucker had been _into_ it. He had wrapped his legs around his waist, put those strong hands all over him, and said his name in that fucking gratifying and _delicious_ way, that way that announced to Negan how fucking _right_ he was about what he had seen lurking beneath the blue stillness of the other man’s eyes. He had immediately wanted to hear it again and again, although of course that stubborn bitch had fought him on that the way he fought him on _everything_. He won out in the end, though. He was always gonna win in the end, and he hoped that Rick fucking _got_ that by now, because he really didn’t want to have to beat it into him again. Not after the taste he had gotten of his eager, willing body.

He remembered watching him afterwards as he gathered his clothes. He was streaked with dirt and grass, and there was a fair amount of scratches on his back from the sharp little rocks that had lain beneath them. It occurred to him then that he had been a fairly shitty date, and that did wound his ego a little. He resolved to be less of a fucking animal about it next time. And there would be a next time, he was sure about that, although he knew Rick was going to piss and moan about it. And piss and moan he _did_. _When are we going scavenging again together, Rick?_ Hell of a fucking laugh, the way he had looked at him like he had just sentenced him to be executed. Well, next time wouldn’t be in the goddamn woods in the dirt, anyway; it would be on a fucking bed. He could do that much.

Which led them here, to this McMansion, with its enormous bed that looked like a dream to fuck on. Of course, Rick tried to fight him on it. Of course, Negan won in the end, but something felt off as he deftly removed the other man’s clothes and his own. Rick felt limp in his arms, like a doll waiting to be positioned.

Negan pressed his lips against his ear. “On the bed. On your knees.” He fully expected Rick to fight him on it, just as he had last week. Actually, he _wanted_ him to - that first time out in the dirt and the parched, yellow grass, he had felt like was handling a poisonous snake, writhing and ready to bite. He wanted _that_ again, but instead, Rick shocked him by acquiescing, walking to the bed and crawling onto it slowly, as if he were exhausted. Negan caught a glimpse of his face as he bent over and pressed it into the mattress, and he looked pale, resigned. He looked like Saint Joan of fucking Arc walking to the stake she was going to be fried on, and it pissed him the _fuck_ off.

All of a sudden, it was ashes in his mouth. Rick fucking Grimes, frustration made flesh, denying him satisfaction even as he gave him what he wanted. “ _Fuck_ you, Rick,” he hissed. The man made no reply. He stalked to the bed and climbed on it, and the fury that burned through him felt dangerous, out of his control. The other man’s naked hips in the air made his dick ache - he had pictured this in his mind’s eye, but the reality was better than the fantasy. Somehow, that just made him angrier, and he slapped one smooth cheek hard, hard enough that it hurt _him_ , his palm burning with the impact. Rick gave a cry into the mattress, but he stayed obediently where he was. That should have pleased him; it didn’t.

He plucked the lube up from where it lay on the smooth white sheets where he had tossed it earlier. As he flipped the cap, he saw with some surprise that his hands were shaking. He was too angry, he realized, way too angry. If he was smart, he would step back from this. Instead, he pressed slick fingers into the man offering himself up like a sacrifice to some dark god, squeezing and pulling aside the now-tender flesh he had just struck with his other hand, exposing him further.

After a moment of searching, Rick made a soft noise and moved back against him, as if trying to take his fingers in deeper.

 _See?_ Negan wanted to scream. _See how bad you want this? See how good I can make you feel?_ He coated himself, hissing at the jolt that went through him as his hand touched his own hot, throbbing arousal. Fuck, he was hard as _hell_ , and once again something tugged on him from deep within his mind in warning. Once again, he ignored it. He knelt behind him, pressing the head of his cock against his entrance, and Rick shuddered and flinched. Negan’s head fell back as he gave a groan. The hot fury drained from him with dizzying speed, leaving only a jagged little shard of self-reproach in his chest. “Rick, do you fucking want this or not?”

“Yes.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me for being confused, because you are sure as hell not acting like it.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Rick replied finally, the words muffled against the soft, white cotton he had buried his face in.

Negan gave an irritated snort before he rocked forward slowly, breaching him, and Rick whined into the mattress, the sound breathy and weak. Negan shivered; that soft, supple heat around the sensitive head of his cock was dizzying. “Rick.” His name fell from his lips in a low, hitching moan he hardly recognized. “You sound like I’m fucking killing you.”

“Yes,” Rick gasped, and it wasn’t clear whether he was agreeing with him or urging him on.

He sank in him slowly as Rick twisted beneath him, panting, and soon he was hilted in the other man. Negan let out a shaky breath and squeezed Rick’s hip. “You are so…fucking… _tight_.” The words felt like they were being wrung out of him. The other man draped one arm over his head in response, as if he were trying to hide himself, and the attitude was so clearly one of distress that Negan felt a freezing wave of guilt crest in him before his rage flared back, burning at full intensity. _Goddamn_ this fucking guy. He wanted him to snarl and fight; this anguished defeat he was displaying instead was a rebuke that was almost frightening - _see what you’ve done?_ \- and fright _enraged_ him.

“You think you’re the only one who’s lost people?” he hissed as he began to fuck him _hard_ , hard enough to send him sliding on the white sheets with each slamming thrust. He squeezed his hip with punishing force as he held him in place, digging into the flesh as if he could drive through to the bone beneath. “Self-righteous prick, you really - “

“Negan, _don’t_ ,” Rick cried out beneath him, sounding pained, and Negan released his iron grip on him immediately as he bit back the rest of the vitriol that was about to spill from his lips.

He forced his hips to still. He breathed through his nose for a minute, and the red haze of his fury lifted. His eyes fell to the man beneath him. As he took in the defeated slump of his shoulders and the livid marks he had pressed into his hips, he felt shame awaken in him, blossoming full and hot and sickening in his belly, for the first time in a very, very, _very_ long time. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly.

Rick still had his face pressed into the rumpled fabric beneath them, and his reply was muffled but intelligible. “No. Just…don’t say that shit. Not while you’re inside of me.”

There was a broken note in his voice that didn’t sit well with Negan. He had wanted to break Rick, sure, but not like this. Not on the end of his dick. The thought made his skin crawl. _I’m sorry_ , he wanted to say. “Boo fucking hoo,” he growled instead. He withdrew almost completely and angled his hips before sliding slowly back into him. Rick let out a deep, throaty cry of pleasure as Negan rubbed over the spot he was seeking. _See? I’m sorry._

He ground against that spot again, and Rick’s entire body shuddered as he whimpered faintly into the mattress, fingers clutching the white sheets. _Fuck this fucking guy_ , Negan raged to himself. Every noise he made felt like it had a direct line to his dick, and that wasn’t all. No, that wasn’t all, because Negan’s hand moved seemingly of its own volition to the other man’s back to rub soothing circles. _I’m sorry._ He could feel Rick melt under his slow, deliberate, purposeful thrusts, and he stroked one hand down a trembling thigh.

Finally, finally, Rick said it - barely audible, just a breath against the soft mattress. “ _Negan_.”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, muscles taut with the effort of controlling his movements, “it’s still me back here.” He could see that Rick smiled at that from the twitching of his cheek visible over his arm, and the pleased flutter that set off in his chest unnerved him. _This fucking guy_ , he thought again, with something like dismay.

Rick made a helpless, sobbing noise beneath him as Negan continued his slow and sweet torture. He finally lifted his face from the mattress, pushing up onto elbows. “Come here,” he moaned, his voice strained and breathless, “come closer.”

Negan hesitated, but his body didn’t get the memo on that. He fell forward immediately, draping himself over Rick, urging him to lie flat against the soft mattress. He rolled them both to their sides and tugged one of Rick’s knees up, repositioning him. The other man was pliant beneath his touch, but in a way that was willing rather than resigned, and Negan found himself trailing kisses over the back of his shoulder as he rocked into him. _What the fuck are you doing?_ He curled his body around Rick’s, the feel of his warm, flushed skin against him electric. _What the fuck-fucking-shit are you doing?_

 _Oh, shut the fuck up_ , he answered himself, and that was that. He wrapped a hand around Rick’s cock and brushed a thumb over the slippery wetness at its tip. Rick made one of the most intriguing noises he had ever heard in his life, and his entire body shuddered in response to it. “Are you gonna come for me, baby?” Negan whispered into the damp curls behind his ear as he worked him in time to his thrusts. “Come on. Pretty _please_.”

For once, Rick did as he was told. He turned his face into the thick white sheets, and the noises he made into them were desperate, keening. His body trembled and clenched around Negan as he spilled into his hand. Whether it was those frenzied cries Rick was fighting so hard to muffle or his slick warmth squeezing him mercilessly, Negan tumbled after him.

His own release rolled over him in relentless waves, shaking him hard, shaking him to pieces. Negan was almost dizzy as he fell back against the pile of pillows, and his helplessness in the moment _offended_ him somehow. He yanked Rick’s arm to pull him onto his back, falling heavily over his body. His mouth crashed against his, and he didn’t know whether he meant to punish or plead. Rick met his hard, hungry kiss weakly, and they were both still shaking from the intensity of the crescendo to which they had brought each other. Negan reached up to cup the other man’s face roughly, half caressing and half imprisoning. A single warm, wet tear slid over his hand, and he jerked away as if Rick had burned him. He sprang from the bed, suddenly furious, snatching at the sheets. “Clean yourself up,” he snarled, flinging them at him. “You’re a fucking mess.” _I’m the fucking mess,_ he thought wryly as he turned away. He had thrown himself on Rick unthinkingly, and a good portion of his belly and thighs were now streaked with sticky white.

“Negan. Come here.”

He twisted around, caught between his enraged disbelief at the audacity of Rick speaking a command to him and the magnetic pull of his husky, honeyed drawl.

“Just lie here a minute,” Rick went on. His eyes were half-closed, and Negan thought there was a good chance he didn’t quite know what he was saying.

He was already moving towards him, and he felt a brief surge of exasperation with himself and his own instinctive capitulation. Rick spoke; he jumped - wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The irritation ebbed when Rick slid a hand over his chest as he slipped back beside him onto the plush mattress, scratching lightly, because that felt fucking _good_. _This shit just started, and it’s already gotten way out of hand_ , he thought grimly as he slid an arm beneath Rick’s shoulders and buried his fingers in his damp curls. He brushed the wet trail on the other man’s cheek away almost roughly before tucking Rick’s face into his neck. _Isn’t this fucking cute_ , he jeered to himself. _Fucking cuddling._ He stayed quiet for once, though, soaking in the warmth of the man drawn tight against him.

They lay there in silence for a time until Rick slipped away from him and stood, eyes everywhere but on him. “Can’t stay here all day. People probably already wonderin’ where we went.”

Negan sat up and caught his wrist lightly as he turned away, drawing him back. Rick’s tired gaze fell on him - _what now?_ his eyes seemed to ask. Negan ghosted his fingertips over his hips, following the bruises that had already begun to form. They mapped out the contours of his hands. He bent forward and brushed his lips over the darkening spots. Rick shuddered hard and gripped his shoulder.

Negan looked up, and Rick had that same deer-in-the-headlights look he had been wearing in the bunker when Negan had tried to kiss him, his blue eyes wide with confused alarm. Negan released him slowly and held up his hands, leaning back and giving him his space. “I shouldn’t have done that shit,” he said slowly, inclining his head towards the marked flesh. “I didn’t ask, and…” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

“And you were punishing me,” Rick said flatly.

Negan stared up at him, and he almost flinched at the way his blue eyes seemed to pierce him. “You think that’s what this is about?” he asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s not. Fuck, Rick. I know I’m sick, but come on. That’s _sick_. Sex is not a fucking weapon. Not to me.”

Rick was shaking his head, rejecting the words, and Negan felt that unfamiliar twist of guilt again, deep in his gut. “If that’s not it, then what is it, Negan? What the hell is this?”

Negan stood, and Rick fell back a wary step. “I already told you. You have a hot body, Rick. And a hell of a face. And when you’re not pissing me the fuck off, I actually like being around you. Although, let’s be fucking honest here - you’re usually pissing me off.” _I like that, too, half the time_ , he thought ruefully. “Look, I like fucking you, Rick. I’d like to continue. But it’s like I told you last time - you have to want this shit. If you’re just gonna lie there and take it like it’s some sort of _punishment_ -“ he actually choked a little on the word, feeling it gag him, and he scrubbed at his jaw to hide his faltering. “Then this shit is really not gonna work for me.”

Rick smiled, and the sight of it chilled Negan. Even though he had no way of knowing, he felt _sure_ that wasn’t what Rick’s smile looked like - this looked like something wholly foreign that had invaded his face, and the teeth that alien smile revealed looked sharper than usual. “Really? It’s not gonna work for you? Hurtin' me? Punishin' me?” He stepped closer to him and tilted his head up, studying his face. The goddamned creepy-ass smile didn’t waver. “Do you know what I think, Negan? I think you’re lyin’ to yourself about that. I think you’re tellin’ yourself a story about a guy who has some _rules_ , and that guy - what? That guy doesn’t wanna like it when I cry while he fucks me, does he? But I think you do.” Rick reached down brushed a hand, feather-light, low on his belly where his dark hair began to thicken in its descent between his legs. “I saw how you looked at me that night in the woods, when you killed my friends - my _family_ ,” he breathed. “I’m not stupid, Negan. You tore me apart, and you were already getting hard for it.”

Negan gripped him by the throat - just tight enough to constrict his breath a little and stop the uncomfortably insightful little tirade. He _hated_ that - hated that Rick had seen through him like that, because he had managed to see right down to something that sincerely shamed him. Rick’s face went closed and blank as Negan hand circled his neck, and he hated that, too. “Okay,” he said after a moment, “first of all, _fuck_ you, Rick. Seriously.” He dragged his tongue along his teeth and tsked. “You’re not wrong about that night,” he said finally, “but you know what? I’m not so fucking proud of it, Rick. Okay? That’s now how I want it to be with us. You don’t want to believe that, but it’s the truth. That’s not me telling you a fucking fairy tale about what a great guy I am - I’m _not_ a great guy. I’m an _asshole_. I have _killed_ people. Hurt people, very fucking badly - far, far worse than what I’ve done to you, Ricky boy. I do it to keep my fucking operation running - keep people fed, under a roof, and alive. Oh, fine, maybe sometimes I’ll do one or two for the fucking hell of it,” Negan laughed, catching Rick’s coldly skeptical expression, “but there’s a method to the madness, Rick, at least _most_ of the time. But fuck all that, this isn’t about that. This is about you and me.”

Rick blinked at him as he released his throat slowly. He tried to move away, but Negan snaked an arm around his waist and dragged him back in. “There is no you and me,” Rick said in a low voice, brows drawing tight together as he braced his hands against Negan’s chest as if preparing to push him away. He didn’t.

“Oh, come on, Rick. You called me out; now it’s your turn. Don’t lie to yourself. This?” He waved a finger between Rick and himself. “This is something. I had you screaming bloody murder into that pillow, baby - when was the last time you came like that?” Negan let the silence stretch out as defiance flared up and then faded in Rick’s eyes. “That’s what I fucking thought. So let’s just get a few things straight - I want to fuck you, and I want you to like it. If you don’t like it, then I don’t want to fuck you. I don’t know how to make it any clearer than that. And…” He didn’t want to go on, didn’t want to give up any more ground here, but he _had_ to - the glimpse he had gotten of himself through Rick’s eyes had rattled him badly. “I happen to feel very fucking shitty about whatever the hell just happened here, Rick. Maybe you think it’s stupid with everything else that’s going on, but this shit is different. I don’t want you to fucking…what did you say? _Cry_ when I fuck you? Jesus _Christ_ , Rick, can you really not tell that that shit makes me sick?”

Rick was searching his eyes and face for something. Negan couldn’t be sure if he found it, but the probing gaze finally drifted down and away, somewhere over Negan’s shoulder. “Maybe it does, but you don’t fuckin’ _act_ like it does, Negan,” Rick said wearily, and it was a goddamn wonder the way the man could withhold satisfaction - mingling concession and censure in one breath.

Even as that needled him, Negan felt the first small stirrings of relief. “Yeah, well. I’m fucking telling you it does, aren’t I? Fucking doubt me on everything else, but not on this.” Negan cocked his head back and frowned; Rick was still avoiding his eyes “Rick. Come on. Look at me.” He said it more gently than usual, but it was still a familiar command. Blue eyes, wary and grim, drifted up to his. “Tell me now that you don’t want this, and I swear to Christ I’ll never touch you that way again.”

“That’s the problem,” Rick said simply, “I do.”

Negan felt a hot flush of pleased triumph and wound his other arm around the other man’s waist, trying to pull him closer.

Rick’s hands were still braced against his chest, and this time he really did push him back, rejecting the embrace and putting him firmly away from him. “We need to clean up. There’s another bathroom in the hall.” He gathered his clothes and padded over to the pink-tiled master bathroom, clicking the door firmly shut behind him. It felt like a test, and Negan stared at the closed door, fighting the impulse to rush headlong through it, because how _dare_ Rick test him? He struggled with himself for a moment and reached until he found it - the guilt, the shame that had gnawed at him like a nest of rats that was still sitting in his chest.

He let him have the small defiance. It didn’t change anything. _Besides…_ He walked back to the bed and ran his hand over the spot where Rick had hid his face as Negan first mounted him, already knowing what he would feel. Damp. From the tears that had soaked silently through. He jerked his hand back like he had touched something scalding, lips moving in a silent curse. _Not here_ , Rick had said. He should have fucking listened. _You should never have started this in the first place, numb nuts_ , a faint voice scolded from the back of his mind. _What the fuck did you think was going to happen? This shit is probably tearing his mind up like wet paper._

“You’re right, Lucille,” he murmured aloud. He crossed to the dresser and picked his girl up lovingly. The flash of light off her twining halo of jagged silver seemed almost knowing, almost alive. “But it’s too late now. Train’s left the station.”

_He’s right about you, you know. You’re just telling yourself a fairy tale about the guy you think you still are, deep down, when you’re not swinging me around - but you haven’t been that guy, baby. You haven’t been that guy in a long fucking time._

—

Arat watched the two men exit the heavy front door of the huge house. Altogether, it wasn’t too incriminating - at least the clothes were all right. They must have gotten them off early on, because they didn’t have that tell-tale wrinkled-and-bunched look they got when rolled around in a mid-afternoon sexcapade. The Alexandrian leader, Rick - he had had the goddamned sense not to wash his hair, but Negan was another story. She felt an almost affectionate exasperation tug the corner of her mouth as she saw how it clung, damp and faintly curling, to his temples. Negan really didn’t give a rat’s ass about keeping that kind of shit private, and she felt a bit bad for Rick. He was so goddamned grim and serious; the sort of person who took everything straight to heart. If it got out that he had fucked Negan, she was sure he would just about die of the shame.

She knew the type. Her older brother had been like that. Tough as fucking nails, but delicate in certain spots where his vulnerabilities chinked his armor. The chain of thoughts soured her stomach, and she gave them a hard shove back into the recesses of her mind. Her old life was gone, and she wasn’t interested in visiting with ghosts.

The two men were speaking in low voices just in front of the porch. Or rather, Negan was speaking, and Rick was listening with that wary, watchful stillness he had. At something Negan said, Rick tossed his head back and stared him full in the face. Not many people had the balls to do that, and Arat felt her eyebrows shoot up a little. He was saying something to Negan, and the other man moved towards him. He fell back a step, but he didn’t seem to be retreating so much as defying the man in the leather jacket by staying out of his reach. Arat watched their odd little dance in fascination. They stared at each other for an unbearably long time before Rick suddenly turned on his heel and walked off.

Negan watched him for a moment before he turned and approached her. “Got anything to say?” he called out, giving her a curious look.

Her eyes fell on him, startled. “Nah. Should I?”

He shrugged. “We weren’t playing pinochle in there, Arat. I think you know that.”

“Yeah,” she replied, brow furrowed. “None of my business, though.” The silence between them stretched on, and she suddenly cracked a tiny smile. “For real, Negan. You can sweet-talk anyone into jumping on your dick. That dude should hate you.”

Negan chuckled. “Oh, he does.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “And I don’t think I’ve ever said anything to him I’d call sweet,” he added wryly.

Arat looked at him closely. There was an uneasiness about him that felt alien to her. “You okay?” she asked, frowning a little.

Negan straightened, suddenly looking annoyed with himself. “I’m aces, baby, I just got _laid_. You keep it to yourself, though. Shit’s complicated.”

“You don’t gotta tell me,” Arat said with a shrug. “Although, if you’re trying to keep this on the down-low, why the hell did you wash your hair? Someone’s gonna notice and wonder, Negan.”

He looked startled for a second and reached up to brush at the damp strands. “Well, _shit_ ,” he said ruefully.

Arat couldn’t help it. She laughed as they turned to make their way back to the gate, and Negan reached over and rubbed his knuckles into her scalp like a…well, like an older brother.

“Gimme a fucking break, kid. We can’t all have beauty _and_ brains.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, trying to finger-comb the strands of hair he had dislodged back into place.

They walked in a companionable silence until they reached the gates of the town, where Saviors were milling and loading supplies. Arat felt an arresting hand on her shoulder, and she turned towards Negan in surprise.

“I’m not the worst thing out there, am I? I mean, I’m low, but I’m not the bottom of the fucking barrel, right?”

Arat shook her head at him in confusion. “What?”

“I’ve gotten lower, you know - as shit goes on. The things you have to do, they eat away at you. At the person you used to be. Or hell, maybe that’s all wrong - maybe it’s just the fucking bars on your cage that get eaten away, and you come busting out like the animal we all are, underneath everything.” He frowned suddenly, as if the thought unsettled him. “There’s shit I won’t do. Won’t _ever_ do. No matter what,” he said defiantly, as if she were arguing the point with him.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, boss,” she said, feeling faintly alarmed.

Negan snorted and raked a hand through his still-wet hair, slicking it back. “Neither do I, darlin’. Forget it.”

This time it was Arat who reached out to tug him back as he turned to go. “You _have_ to be hard, Negan. We all do,” she said urgently. “Because there is worse out there. There _is_. You have to be tough enough to fight it, otherwise you end up like -“ _Like these people_ , she wanted to say. Like Rick, looking all tired and grim and _tenuous_. But she held herself back, sensing that wasn’t something Negan wanted to hear. “We just gotta be tough enough to stay alive. Tougher than what’s still out there. What’s _worse_.”

Negan looked at her, considering. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one sitting, Arat.” His teasing smile flashed out at her, and she gave a faint smile back, relieved to see his familiar self back. He draped an arm around her shoulders and walked them into the flock of Saviors. “Come on. This weepy, serious bullshit is fucking depressing. I stashed a bottle of whiskey in the dash; let’s get one of these sorry assholes to drive while we get hammered. We’re the top of the fucking food chain, baby girl! It’s fucking _good_ to be us,” he howled to the sky, and a few of the more easily rattled Saviors fell back from him cautiously. His mocking laughed flowed forth, flowed over all of them.

Later, seated in the car and holding the bottle of whiskey he had pressed into her hands, she watched him watch Alexandria as it receded in the rearview mirror. She couldn’t read the expression in his stormy eyes.

—

That night, Rick didn’t go to bed. He was afraid of what would happen if he lay alone in the dark, so he sat on his couch, straight-backed and red-eyed as the long, lonely hours stretched on. It felt like the lesser of two evils, but he knew he would pay for his sleeplessness tomorrow.

She came with her soft cat’s tread - he wouldn’t have even heard it if he wasn’t used to it by now - and tapped softly at the front door.

“Come in,” he called hoarsely, “it’s open.”

She pushed the door open slowly. In that moment, illuminated by moonlight that seemed to skim over her with a certain reverence, she looked like a celestial being. Beautiful and aloof. “I saw you sitting here from the window,” she said quietly. “What is it, Rick?”

“I’m losin’ my _mind_ , Michonne,” he whispered. “I’m - I’m scared. I’m scared that I really am losin’ my mind.”

She was shaking her head as she approached him, and her warm, strong hands landed on his shoulders. “No,” she said, kind but firm.

He looked into her eyes, dark and still and infinitely deep, and the guilt ripped the confession right out of his throat. “I’m sleepin’ with Negan.” The moment it left his lips, every drop of the despair that had been steadily filling him since that horrible night in the woods was loosed. He bent his head and sobbed, tears flowing thick and hot down his cheeks. He was lost in the salty flood of it, and he felt wholly mastered by anguish. He hadn’t wept with this kind of abandon since he was a child, and fear and shame welled in him in equal measure.

Michonne was holding him. He had sunk to the floor, and she was folded over him, holding him as if she was trying to hold the pieces of him together. “Oh, no, no, no,” she soothed in his ear. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that, Rick. We all do things we’re ashamed of. We _all_ do.” She stroked his hair, and the gentleness of it brought a fresh wave of hot tears to his eyes. “Don’t take it so hard.”

“H-how can you say that?” he managed to whisper shakily. “After what he’s done to us, to all of us, I let him touch me. And I _liked_ it,” he said with a disbelieving horror, “I liked it, and I…he’s gonna come to me again, and I’m gonna let him. I’m gonna _let_ him. I _want_ to let him. I’m losing my goddamn _mind_.”

Michonne continued to stroke his hair, rubbing her other hand over his back. Negan had touched him like that earlier, when his ferocity had given way suddenly to a bewildering tenderness, and Rick shivered beneath her touch as it awakened that memory in his flesh. “Rick,” she said softly, “if that’s how it is…don’t just _let_ him. If that’s what you want, then take it. Let yourself have it. What’s the point of doing anything else, if you’re going to do it at all?”

 _Let yourself have it._ He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead into the soft, pleasant scratch of her thick jeans stretched over her knee as she knelt beside him. That’s what he had done today - he had let himself get lost in the unbearably hot, sweet ache of what Negan was doing to his body. He had drifted up and away, away from everything real, away to a place that was flesh without thought. And that flesh had moved its mindless mouth and all but begged Negan to come to him, get closer. In the cold light of day, he didn’t know which was worse - that he had asked or that Negan had acquiesced, falling over and around him like a real lover. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he said wearily, “it just doesn’t make any goddamned sense.”

Michonne huffed a soft laugh above him. “Well, it never did, Rick. The people you’re drawn to that way? Even before all of this happened, half the time it didn’t make any goddamned sense.”

Rick lifted his head and stared at her, red eyes swimming with sadness and confusion. “Why are you goin’ so easy on me? Why do you _forgive_ me for this? I-“

“Rick,” she interjected. “Rick. Don’t.” She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re human. Being human is nothing that needs to be forgiven. We’re all just trying to do the best we can with what’s left in the world.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, meaning the words more than he ever had in his life. “You are the truest friend I have ever had.”

She smiled at that, and the beauty of it glowed in her face.

He scrubbed his face and sighed. Sobbing his heart out like that had left him feeling more exhausted than ever, but he also felt unmistakably lighter. He sat back on his heels and looked at his friend. “What are we gonna do, Michonne? About all of this?”

“We’re gonna keep going. Keep surviving. We’re gonna watch, and we’re gonna wait, and eventually we’re gonna figure out a plan to come back from this. We will.” She cocked her head and graced him with another of her radiant smiles. “Do you believe me?”

He tried to smile back, but his smile was a pitiful thing just now, rusty and weak. “I’m trying.”

She looked at him soberly. “Rick…this thing with Negan? Just be careful,” she said softly. “He turns on a dime, doesn’t he?”

Rick swallowed, replaying their earlier encounter - one moment Negan had been _slamming_ into him, snarling like an angry wolf, and the next he was draped over him like a blanket, coaxing his body gently with soft caresses and kisses dripped onto his neck and shoulders like syrup, sweet and heavy.

It was the latter that had frightened him.

“Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely. “He turns on a dime.”

 


	3. What's Confusing You Is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! I actually had to split what would have been chapter 3 into two chapters because it was just getting too long and unwieldy, so chapter 4 is essentially written and will be up very shortly. Soon as I get the chance to polish it up a little. Pinky promise! Thanks for reading!

Negan lounged just out of sight from the bathroom doorway, waiting for Rick to come out. The blue-eyed man was certainly taking his sweet fucking time in there for someone who seemed so goddamn terrified a second ago of being found out. _He wants to make sure he washes every bit of you off,_ Lucille whispered, and Negan frowned at the thought. He looked up as Rick emerged, fully dressed but still damp from the shower. “Boo,” he said, childishly pleased at the startled jerk the other man gave when he realized how close Negan was lurking.

Rick stared at him wordlessly for a moment before he ducked his head, turning and making his way towards the stairs.

Negan followed practically on his heels. “So what’s the fucking plan, Rick? We need to have one. Fucking safe word or something. You don’t want to fuck in Stepford, I fucking get that much, but is it too much to ask that - Jesus Christ, are you listening?” They had gone through the front door and emerged into the open air of the street. Arat was still standing at attention a dozen or so yards away, like the motherfucking soldier she was.

Rick turned to face him, still silent, but his eyes were focused and intense. _I’m listening,_ they said.

The silence felt accusing, defiant, and the familiar hot thrum of anger sounded in Negan’s chest. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he observed pleasantly. “You really fucking are. You’re gonna stand there and not say a damn thing - holy shit, that shit is fucking obnoxious. Communication, Rick. It’s fucking _fundamental_. You get that? No? Goddamn, I really could just slap the shit out of you right now, you fucking brat.”

Rick’s eyes flattened, and Negan reined himself in with a supreme effort.

He forced himself to play it over again in his mind - _you were punishing me_ \- and let the bitter taste of guilt sober him up. He tried again. “You don’t get it, sweetheart. I’m trying to do this shit on your terms. See? What did I just fucking tell you? I don’t wanna fuck anybody who isn’t into it, and I definitely don’t want to be a part of whatever freaky-ass self-flagellating _shit_ you’ve got going on - not without _knowing_ about it anyway. I mean, hell, if you’ve got some requests, then feel free to fucking run ‘em by me. As long as we’re on the same page, baby, I would be happy to fucking deliver. Is that it, Rick? Are you a bad boy? Do you need a spanking? I’ll bet you a hundred useless fucking dollars - I’m not shitting you, I have a C-note in my pocket right now - that you’re into some kinky shit under that Dudley Do-Right act. Please fucking tell me that you are.”

How the _fuck_ did he always get so fucking far away, so quickly, from what he was actually trying to say? He could see Rick receding back into himself, his blue eyes shuttering. _Jesus Christ, he’s never gonna fucking let me touch him again._ He gave himself a mental slap.

“Jesus, Rick, can you fucking smile for once? Can you take a fucking joke?” Negan rubbed a hand over his mouth. He felt foolish and exposed. “Look,” he said steadily, “I’ll tell you what. Next pick-up, if you wanna fuck, meet me at the gate. If you don’t? Send someone else. I won’t come looking for you. Deal?”

“Oh, yeah? Just like that, huh? And what’s gonna happen to the person I send, Negan? Are you gonna take it out on them that I’m not there?”

Negan was so goddamned surprised to actually hear his voice that it took him a minute to react. When he did, he went towards Rick on instinct, but the other man evaded him. He forced himself to be still and allow it, shooting him an irritated look. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you, Rick? I’m not gonna fucking force you. I’m not gonna kill any of your little buddies if you want to call this shit off. Okay? I pinky-fucking-swear.”

Rick stared hard into his eyes, brows drawn together. They stood there for a moment, having themselves quite the little staring contest. Finally, Rick cocked his head to his shoulder and turned away wordlessly.

Once again, Negan forced himself to allow it, fighting the urge to chase him and make him _say_ that he believed him. He was aware that he had taken far too many unpleasant detours on his way to say what he fucking wanted to say from the minute Rick walked out of the bathroom, skin glistening wet and smelling like the fancy soap a house like that was bound to have: _I’m not gonna run you down. I’m not gonna chase you until you’re too tired or too rattled to say no. That shit is not gonna happen. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s not gonna happen again. That’s not who I fucking am - it’s not, it’s not, it’s_ fucking _not._

 _Is that right, baby?_ the Lucille-voice asked, all soft and sing-song like she used to tease him.

He stood silently cursing at Rick’s retreating back.

—

When the next pick-up day came, it was that dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty, the one that looked too damn much like Lucille - Rosa or something - who rolled the gate back. Alone.

 _Well, shit,_ Negan thought ruefully. _That fucking sucks._ But it was hardly surprising. Rick was so fucking serious, so earnest, so goddamn disgustingly _righteous_ ; of course this shit wasn’t going to fly with him. He couldn’t fucking deal with it. He had fallen apart beneath him the last time, and Negan hadn’t even noticed. He should have -

It was at that moment that he saw him, finally revealed as the girl finished pulling the gate open. He had his muscled arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against a car parked just within the walls.

 _Well, shit,_ Negan thought appreciatively. He had planned to hang back and let Rick come to him this time around, but his feet were moving before he realized it. “Morning, cowboy,” he said quietly, the words only for the man in front of him. Wary, watchful blue eyes met his. “We going for a ride today?”

Rick pushed off the car and stood, dusting off his worn jeans. “Yeah,” he said, turning his head and squinting off into the distance. He sounded pretty fucking unhappy about it, but that didn’t stop the triumph from burning high and hot through Negan’s chest.

Footsteps approached them, and Negan saw that girl - Rosaly? Roseanne? - stalking towards them, mouth set in a hard line. “You all right?” she asked Rick, open rancor in the dark eyes fixed steadily on Negan.

Negan knew himself well enough to know that this shit was catnip - skinny thing was surrounded by a horde of Saviors armed to teeth, and she was still trying to stare him the fuck down. Hell, isn’t that what had him sniffing after Rick in the first place? _Not today, not tomorrow_ \- the fucking _audacity_ of it, Jesus Harold Christ, that had given him one _hell_ of dirty thrill. He could just picture it: Rick behind him, hands roaming, while he went face-down between those slim thighs and tasted beautiful, dagger-eyed - _Rosita, that’s fucking it._ He grinned naughtily at her, shooting his eyebrows up.

“Sure he is, darlin’,” Negan said, his tones mockingly soothing, “he’s just fine. He’s coming with me on a little trip. You gonna sign his permission slip?”

Rosita surged forward as Rick’s eyes widened in alarm behind her, thrusting herself between him and Rick like a shield. “You can’t just -“

Rick put a hand on her shoulder and quickly slipped around her, reversing their position so that he stood between her and Negan. It probably looked pretty fucking funny from a distance - the two of them dancing around each other like Negan was a grenade with its pin out and they were jockeying for the privilege of being blown to hell. “It’s fine,” Rick said quickly. “Really. It’s fine, Rosita.”

She stared hard into Rick’s eyes, searching for assurance, and Negan could see the fear in their dark depths as he loomed over Rick’s shoulder. They began to speak in hushed, urgent tones, and the amusement drained slowly from Negan as something sour crept up his throat. Shame returned like an unwelcome guest, and predictably, rage was right on its heels. _If I wanted to kill him, I’d do it right here. Right in front of you, sweet thing. Oh, you’d better fucking believe it._ He clenched his teeth as if it would keep the bitter flood from spilling past his lips.

“It’s fine,” Rick was repeating quietly. “Can you hold things down here?”

“You know it,” she said tightly. She threw one last freezing look at Negan before she turned on her heel and swept off, arms still tightly crossed as if that was all that kept her fists from flying.

“They think I’m liable to just eat you the fuck up, don’t they?” He was standing close enough behind Rick that the words were spoken almost into his soft, curling hair, and Rick looked down at his boots. Negan stepped back slowly. “Come on.” He turned around and walked towards the gate, and he was relieved when he heard the hesitant footsteps follow.

—

Rick had been both shocked and touched when Rosita threw herself between him and Negan. He honestly never could tell where he stood with her. She had been prickly and distant ever since they had met, and the walls she had already erected around herself had grown nearly impenetrable since Abraham’s grisly death.

He had wanted to tell her since that night - _my fault. It’s all my fault._ He held back, because the admission would be for himself, and he didn’t deserve to ask for absolution. Not from her, not from Sasha. Certainly not from Maggie. The thought of what his colossal mistake had cost her, cost them all, had everything inside of him feeling as rotted as the dead that mindlessly crawled the earth. He was determined that he would cost them nothing else, which is why Rosita’s slim frame defiantly thrust between him and Negan sent him into a near-panic.

He had to stand nearly on top of Negan’s toes to get back between them, and Rosita had looked up at him, fury and alarm swimming in her huge, dark eyes. “Where the fuck is he taking you?” she hissed.

“I don’t know,” Rick answered honestly, “but it’s all right. It’s fine. Can you hold things down here?”

The fear on her face hurt to see even as her concern warmed him. He could see the war raging in her eyes before she finally gave him one of her sharp nods as she turned away. “You know it.” He watched in relief as she walked off, and he was suddenly aware of Negan, warm and so very close behind him.

“They think I’m liable to just eat you the fuck up, don’t they?” he murmured behind him, tone low and intimate.

Rick stared at the dusty ground, bracing himself. He expected hands to clamp into him, twist him around. He expected a tirade about how _I could show you all again, Rick, give you a reminder_ , but he was shocked when Negan just stepped away without comment.

“Come on,” was all he said, and he walked off towards the gate.

After a stunned moment, Rick followed. He motioned for the blonde, middle-aged woman on guard duty to shut the gate behind them. He watched it until it clicked securely shut before he turned, and he froze in bewilderment as he saw what Negan was walking towards.

It was a different RV. Not the one from that night, that Negan had brought to their gates again and again. The one that made Rick sick to look at.

 _Something probably happened to it,_ he thought. He imagined it, crumpled and blackened at the bottom of some ravine, and satisfaction tingled through him, absurd as it was. He climbed into the passenger seat, shooting Negan a wary look.

The other man twisted the keys in the ignition, bringing the truck to rumbling life. “Safe house,” he announced, putting his arm around the back of Rick’s seat as he twisted around to back up.

Rick had been debating asking him about the truck, but this startled him out of his thoughts. “A what?”

“That’s where we’re going, Rick. To one of our safe houses. We got ‘em set up all over. Find an empty house, clear it, make it into a fucking fortress - boom. Go a couple miles out, find another house, rinse and repeat. Then you can just hop, skip, and jump your way around from house to house. It widens the perimeter so you can go further and further out without staying out in the fucking open for too long. What?” he asked, smiling faintly at Rick’s stunned look. “It’s a good idea, right?”

“It’s a damn good idea,” Rick said, staring at him.

Negan flashed him that easy, dimpled grin - the one that tempted him into forgetting he was looking at a killer. “I’ve been known to have a few of those, Rick. Don’t act so goddamn surprised.”

Rick stared at his hands resting on his knees. “How do you reinforce them?” he asked hesitantly. “The houses? Board ‘em up, or…” He was stunned yet again when Negan actually began to tell him. They bricked the windows and reinforced the doors with sheet metal. Any aperture large enough to admit a human-sized thing was padlocked. Rick felt his stomach sink into the floor as he realized the sheer amount of _resources_ the Saviors had at their disposal. He had been so wrong, so fucking _wrong_ about what he was up against, and before he realized it, he had drifted away into his own guilty thoughts.

He leapt halfway into the air when a finger traced his bottom lip. He turned to Negan, who was chuckling and holding his hand up, palm out.

“Jesus, Rick, you’re fucking jumpy. You went to outer space for a second. Just trying to get your attention.”

“That how you get everyone’s attention?” Rick snapped, embarrassed. Negan had him jumping like a scared rabbit, and he ground his teeth together in irritation.

“Not everyone,” Negan admitted, still wearing that easy grin. “Didn’t think I was gonna _scare_ you, darlin’.” It wasn’t the cruelest taunt he had ever thrown at him, but it was unmistakably a taunt.

“You didn’t,” Rick returned sharply, and he had to bite his tongue to stem the rising anger in him as Negan shot him a knowing, amused smirk. “And don’t call me that.”

“Aw, Rick, don’t fucking be like that.” Negan’s voice dropped down to that coaxing murmur he had used on him the last time, and Rick hated himself for the way it made him want to relax into it like something soft and comfortable.

 _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ he asked himself, as he had endlessly since the day he had let Negan crawl over him in the dirt. _I want it,_ a stubborn little voice piped up in reply inside of him, its mindless refrain as close to an answer to that question as he could find within himself. _I want it, I want it._

The fingers returned, barely brushing at his jaw, and Rick was horrified when he shivered hard under the touch. His skin prickled with heat, and he could have died from the humiliation. _Here we go,_ he thought miserably. The fingers wandered lightly back to his lips, and two slipped past them, rough and sudden.

Rick sank his teeth into the invaders on instinct. It wasn’t enough to hurt, not really, but it was enough for Negan to feel the promise of their sharp strength. He glared at the other man out of the corner of his eyes.

Negan began to laugh quietly beside him. The low, menacing sound of it seemed to thicken the air around them. “Here he is. _Heeere_ he is. Here’s the fucking guy who rolled up on my outpost in the middle of the night like the motherfucking angel of death. God, you make me so fucking hard.” Negan withdrew his fingers slowly, and Rick’s heart hammered in his chest. “Sorry, darlin’,” Negan murmured after a moment, “I didn’t ask.”

Rick stared at him, mind whirling as it struggled and sputtered under the strain of all the man’s contradictions. “Don’t call me that,” he said finally, turning his head towards the window. They drove on in what passed for a comfortable silence between them.

—

The safe house was impressive, and Rick wondered why the hell he - or anyone else in his group, for that matter - hadn’t ever thought of doing anything similar. It could expand their reach for scavenging, and it would make their runs safer, too. Negan walked him through it, pointing out the ways the rickety little two-story Victorian had been turned into something capable of withstanding a siege by the dead - or the living, for that matter.

 _Is this an offering?_ Rick wondered, watching him covertly. It felt like one - Negan was giving him a glimpse into his operation. Or perhaps it was a warning - _we got ‘em set up all over,_ he had said. How far was their reach? What other innovations had they been able to develop with the resources and comfortable safety their total dominion had afforded them?

He listened closely as Negan explained how they reinforced the entry points. _An offering or…?_

The other man had been keeping his distance since their exchange in the car. Rick had thought he would end up on his back within five minutes of walking into the house, but Negan hadn’t so much as gotten close to him. Rick was watching him thoughtfully when Negan turned and caught him staring. He gave a faint smirk, but he stayed where he was. That puzzled Rick, because they both knew why Rick had met him at the gate this morning.

 _I want it,_ Rick thought, almost sadly. “Is the bedroom upstairs?” he asked quietly, turning and gazing up the staircase.

“Yeah,” Negan replied after a beat. “It is.”

Rick turned to look over his shoulder at him. Negan’s dark eyes looked curious, but he didn’t approach. Rick inclined his head towards the stairs, wordlessly beckoning Negan to follow him as he ascended. Their heavy footsteps echoed in the empty house. Rick wandered down the hallway until he found the bedroom. It was ordinary-looking, with a bed covered in a plain tan-and-white striped coverlet and a few pieces of nondescript furniture. If there had been any personal touches in it, Saviors had swept them out of sight. The only thing left that had any character of its own was a small framed print handing over the dresser. It was a photograph of fruit, rotting in a bowl. Rick came dangerously close to laughing.

“It ain’t much to look at, but it’s comfortable,” Negan murmured from behind him. He was still standing a good distance away, and Rick came to the wry realization that it actually unsettled him a little. Negan keeping his distance unsettled him, because he was so goddamn _used_ to the man smothering him like a living blanket at every opportunity he got.

 _Let yourself have it,_ Michonne had said. He reached back and grasped Negan lightly by the wrist, drawing him into the colorless bedroom. He stepped up into his space, for once invading instead of being invaded, and pushed his jacket slowly from his shoulders. It fell to the floor heavily, zippers and buttons clinking noisily. _If that’s want you want, then take it,_ she had said. He slid his hands under the hem of his shirt next, hearing Negan’s breath catch in his throat as he smoothed his palms over the warm, muscled waist. He pushed the white fabric up slowly, revealing the tattoos that crawled across him.

Negan’s arms dangled at his sides as he watched Rick through his dark lashes. He lifted them up to allow Rick strip his shirt off, and then they fell right back into place, making no move towards the man before him.

Rick leaned his head back and looked into his eyes. He edged closer, bumping his chest against Negan’s but not pressing close, not yet. “What’s the matter? You afraid to touch me all of a sudden?” he asked bitterly.

Negan’s cheek twitched, and Rick could have sworn he almost saw him flush. “You gonna cry again?” he countered, and it hit Rick like a slap.

He held onto himself with an effort, fighting to keep his expression cool and neutral. He tilted his head up and placed his lips almost on Negan’s ear. “Oh, you’d like that,” he whispered, “but no. Take your clothes off and get on the bed.” It was a test, designed to see if the carefulness Negan was displaying was just an act that would crumble if Rick tried to take more control than Negan was willing to hand over. Rick didn’t trust it in the least, and if Negan was going to erupt into another fireball of rage at a wrong word or look, he’d rather know sooner than later.

But Negan actually complied, hands falling to his belt immediately, but he did so with a triumphant smirk that had Rick gritting his teeth in irritation. How could the other man see victory in every move that Rick made? He had said that he wanted to do this on Rick’s terms, so why did it feel like he was still winning, still in complete control?

Rick turned from him in annoyance, starting in on his own clothes. He heard the soft clink of a belt hitting the floor behind him, and he bit his lip as arousal pulsed through his entire body, making the legs he was standing on feel suddenly unsteady. “This is insane, you know,” Rick said softly, tossing his shirt aside. “With everything you’ve done. To me, to my family. What you’re still doing.” He stripped his pants off, taking his boxers with him. “I don’t understand how I could want this.” He turned slowly, eyes falling on Negan where he had thrown himself casually on the bed.

“It’s not insane,” the other man said, pushing a hand through his dark hair. “The dead walking? That’s fucking insane. This? Nah. This is just what we do, Rick. The human animal needs food, sex, and sleep. Didn’t you ever watch the fucking Discovery channel?”

Rick frowned at him, feeling his brows knit in distress. “You ain’t hearin’ me. You fucking _killed_ -“

“I did,” Negan agreed pleasantly, “and so did you. _You_ fucking killed, Rick. So please stop pretending this shit isn’t complicated, because you know it is. You’ve been leading your own people, so I know that you get it, even though you don’t want to. You think I don’t know it was horrible? Doin’ that kid like that while his girl watched? Killing big red? _He_ actually seemed like a fun fucking guy. I would have had a beer with that fucking guy. Hey, don’t get me wrong - I’m not saying I fucking _care_ , because I didn’t know those assholes. But I know it was horrible. It was fucking _supposed_ to be, Rick, because if people get the idea that they can roll up on my operation, kill themselves a whole fucking pack of my dudes, and walk away with a tender kiss on the forehead, then the Sanctuary is not going to fucking survive. And you know what? I’ll bet you’ve done some horrible shit to survive, too, sheriff. Now will you please, please, pretty-fucking- _please_ sit on my dick before you kill the fucking mood?”

Rick closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face. “You’re wrong,” he said in a strangled tone. “Every time you talk, you make everything you do sound so goddamn reasonable, but it’s not. It’s not, and neither are you. You ain’t about just survivin’, Negan, you’re about grindin’ people into the fucking dirt.”

Negan stretched lazily, looking bored with the conversation. “Today I’m about fucking you into the mattress, Rick, if you ever stop _speechifying_ and get into bed with me.”

Rick walked over to the bed. “I just want you to know that I haven’t forgotten,” he said quietly. He wasn’t even sure why he was insisting on all this. Maybe it was because he could no longer deny what was happening: Negan had laid a series of concessions at his feet like a heap of roses. His promise not to stalk him through Alexandria if he chose to stay away this morning, the new RV, showing him the safe house, and the almost respectful distance he had been keeping - he was being _considerate_. It wasn’t a game. Wasn’t a threat. The old RV wasn’t a burned-out wreck in a pit somewhere. Negan was just trying to be _better_ to him, trying to move away from that night in the woods, and the realization skittered uneasily around Rick’s mind like a trapped and frightened animal. “I haven’t forgotten _anything_.”

Negan was deceptively still, sitting with his back against the headboard, so Rick was truly startled when his arm shot out and gripped his elbow, jerking him onto the bed and against his naked body. “Have you forgotten who you belong to?” he asked, voice soft and dangerous.

So much for moving away from that night in the woods. Rick almost smiled. _Here he fucking is,_ he thought with grim satisfaction. _I knew he couldn’t stay away for too long._ “Like I said,” he answered, struggling up from where he had sprawled nearly across Negan’s lap, “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

Negan caught at him as he tried to crawl off, pulling him into his lap so that he straddled him. “Are we gonna have this fucking conversation every time?” he demanded, irritated. “Jesus Christ, Rick. Can’t you just lie back and let me send you to the fucking moon?”

Rick let out a long, slow breath, his head lolling back as if it were heavy. Negan’s palms on his thighs felt hot, as if the man were actually running a few degrees warmer than the average person. Warmer than Rick, anyway. He was holding back, Rick could feel it - the long fingers twitched against his skin, aching to sink in.  
  
“Yeah,” Rick said to the ceiling, “okay.”

The soft sound of the bed clothes rustling beneath them as Negan shifted made him tense in wary anticipation. The other man caught him around the chest and flipped him onto his back, muscles rolling smoothly beneath his skin as he moved over Rick like a beast of prey. There was a lazy grace to the way to the way he settled over him, and he passed a hand slowly over Rick’s chest as it rose and fell, fingers trailing a question onto the skin that was already starting to flush with heat.

 _He’ s giving me time to pull away,_ Rick thought, amazed and horrified. _Not gonna, though. Because I want it._

Negan was watching his face closely, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were listening in on Rick’s thoughts. He pressed forward slowly, grinding their erections together. Rick’s mouth fell open in a soundless cry, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the furnace-like heat of him approaching just before he fully descended, pressing his chest and face flush to Rick’s exposed flesh.

“What do you want?” Negan whispered hotly into the hollow of his neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want?” Rick echoed huskily, brow furrowing. He thought it was pretty clear what he wanted, stripped bare and lying beneath him. He remembered that day out in the dirt and leaves and open air, how Negan had pushed him until he begged, and he felt anger begin to burn in his belly. He was damned if he was going to -

Negan kissed a hungry line up the column of his throat, pausing at his ear. “Come on, darlin’,” he whispered, and that coaxing tone was back, that _please baby please_ tone. “Tell me what you want. Let me give you what you want.”

 _Oh,_ Rick thought, shocked. _He means it._ Not a game, not a threat, but something new and baffling.

"Come on, tell me." Negan's lips moved over the sensitive skin just behind his jaw, and Rick felt more than heard the words spoken softly there.

“Wanna be inside,” Rick admitted in a whisper, the confession falling out of his mouth.

He fully expected him to refuse. Maybe he would even get angry at Rick for asking him to be vulnerable like that, but Rick couldn’t help but tell the man the truth when Negan asked in that seductive, disarming way that sailed right past Rick's carefully erected defenses.The man was always winning; he was finding new ways to win every goddamn minute Rick was with him.

Negan didn’t get angry; he gave a pleased-sounding rumble instead. “You do, huh?” He rose to his knees and reached back, pressing Rick’s cock into the warm cleft of his ass. “Like that?”

Rick’s teeth sank so hard into his lower lip that the coppery tang of blood welled in his mouth as his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He couldn’t stop the broken, pathetic noise that escaped his throat.

“Aw, honey,” Negan crooned above him in wicked delight, “you want it real fuckin’ bad, don’t you?”

Rick flushed miserably, his eyes still closed. He felt something smooth pressed into his hand, and he looked down. It was the lubricant Negan seemed to pull out of thin air all the damn time, and he glanced up at him, confused and embarrassed to be confused.

“It goes on your dick, idiot,” Negan said cheerfully. “I’m gonna ride it. I know you hate me, but you really don’t want to try and go in dry. You won’t fucking like it anymore than I do.”

“That’s sick, Negan,” Rick snapped, aghast. “I would never -“

Negan interrupted him with a mocking laugh, reaching behind himself. “Of course you wouldn’t, Saint Rick,” Negan said in a near-moan, head falling back as he worked fingers into himself.

Rick was momentarily arrested by the sight - the other man’s tattooed and muscled body on display above him as his handsome face went slack with bliss, arm moving behind his back. _The devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape._ The words came back to him from some distant corner of his mind, a buried relic of his school days, and he almost, almost laughed. Instead he reached down, unable to bear the throbbing between his legs a moment longer, and coated himself with a slick layer from the bottle Negan had handed him, eyes nearly rolling back into his head the moment he touched his own hot flesh.

“Hard, aren’t you? Hard as steel. Hard as fucking granite.” Negan’s voice rolled over him like lazy thunder, and Rick tried and failed to control the way his body twitched and shuddered. “And it’s all for lil’ ol’ _me_ ,” Negan breathed out, and Rick felt his hand get gently pulled away before Negan shifted above him. “Well, I’m in the same fucking predicament, Rick. Look.”

He looked. _Oh, god,_ was all he could think. Negan’s flushed, leaking cock jutted from his hips, and it made Rick’s mouth water, and he hated himself, he hated himself, he _hated_ …

Negan gripped Rick’s cock and guided himself over it, grinning as if he could once again hear his thoughts. “Don’t take it so fucking hard, Rick,” he laughed, and he sank onto him with a long, slow sigh.

It was so good that it _hurt_ , and for a moment, Rick thought he might actually beg him to stop, because his body felt like it was being torn in two from the pleasure. Negan made a wanton noise as he rolled his hips, lips stretched in a grin, and Rick couldn’t do a thing about the strangled, breathy cry he gave in response. His hands found the strong thighs at either side of his waist, fingers sinking into the too-hot skin, and he watched in fascination as dark lashes fluttered.

“That’s right, baby,” Negan growled breathily above him, “you hold on real tight.”

That’s exactly what he did, hands wandering and squeezing with a breathless eagerness that would no doubt come back to haunt him in his sober hours. Right now, though… _I want it._ He couldn’t get enough of the burning flesh beneath his hungry touch. Negan rode him slowly, and the breath tore from his chest in ragged pants.

“This what you wanted, darlin’?” Negan’s sultry growl rolled over him, and he shuddered as it did.

“Yes,” he answered huskily, too far gone for pretense. “Yes, _yes_.”

Negan beamed a smile of utter delight down at him, and for a moment, he had that look again - that look from another world. “That’s what I like to hear,” he replied, running a hand over Rick’s shaking chest. “So let me hear it, baby.” He sped up, and Rick let out a wail. Negan answered him with a low moan, head falling back. “Rick, fuck, _Rick_ , your cock feels so fucking _good_ , baby.”

 _Oh, god. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god._ He wasn’t sure if he was speaking out loud - he hoped he wasn’t, anyway - but the mindless chant sounded in his head. _Oh, god, god, god._

Negan was tight, slick, soft heat all around him, and he was lost. He was so, so lost, and he had been from the moment Negan had first put his lips on his ear and whispered his devilish temptations. _Mmm, honey,_ he had said, _you’ll forget everything else exists._ It was a promise he had kept. Rick was conscious only of desperate, aching _want_. He didn’t know what he was saying, what he was doing. He didn’t know where he was. For as long as that lasted, it gave him a peace he hadn’t known for a long, long time, and he embraced that undeserved peace with equal parts gratitude and shame.

“Negan,” he whispered brokenly, and everything was blue-white around him, like the deadly heart of an open flame. “Negan, please.”

“You don’t have to beg, baby.” That voice penetrated through the oblivion he was floating in, shaking and almost in pain with the pleasure. “I’m giving it to you.”

He peaked with those words ringing in his ear, breath still in his chest for so long that his lungs ached and burned. He was gasping like a drowning man when he came back to himself, shaking hard enough that he could hear how his limbs slid against the tangled sheets. Negan was sprawled over him, pressing him into the mattress with his weight.

“Jesus fucking Johnathon Christ, Rick,” he groaned into his chest, and Rick felt a little shiver of satisfaction at how weak and shaken his voice sounded. He sounded the way Rick felt, and his arms slid instinctively around the man above him. He pressed his face into the sweat-dampened, tattooed shoulder, and he found himself turning his head to slide his cheek against the warmth of the skin there, nuzzling tiredly. He realized what he was doing with a start, clarity trickling back into him like cold water.

He pulled away slowly, rising up on unsteady legs. Negan watched him, expression faintly amused. “Be right back,” he muttered, making his way to the bathroom. He splashed his burning face with cool water from the faucet, trying to get a hold of himself.

 _What are you doing?_ He stared at himself in the mirror - he had been sleeping better since his conversation with Michonne, and the dark circles under his eyes had faded. His skin was still flushed from exertion, and his cheeks glowed with the color. He looked better than he had any right to look. He had looked at himself in the mirror after Glenn and Abe died, and _that_ was how he deserved to look - white as paper, eyes looking like holes punched out of his face, sticky red painting his cheek.

_You remember?_

Glenn and Abe hadn’t _died_ ; they had been executed by the man whose bed he had just left. He had swung the bat he beat them to death with towards Rick, and the red, red, ruby-red blood had arched through the air, landing against his cheek like a reproachful slap. It had still been hot.

_Yeah, you remember. So what the fuck are you doing?_

_I’m letting myself have it,_ he answered himself defiantly, _because I want it._ The thought felt sickly and corrupt as it slithered around his head, and suddenly he couldn’t meet the reflection of his own eyes.

“You get lost, baby?” The low, mocking tone reached out and grasped at him like a groping hand.

 _Yes,_ he replied silently. _I got lost. I got lost in the woods, just like the story goes._

He turned and walked back through the darkness to the wolf waiting for him in the tousled sheets, leaving the accusing eyes behind in the mirror. Negan reached for him as he drew close, pulling him into his strong arms. He always felt so hot, as if he were burning from the inside out, as if…

_As if he really is the devil, and he’s brought hell up into the world inside him._

“What are you thinking, Rick?” he whispered as his hands wandered, setting Rick’s body thrumming to life. “What’s going on in that _pretty_ head? God, I’d love to know.”

Rick shifted and pulled him over his body, drawing his thighs up around his waist in invitation, saying nothing out loud in reply.


	4. The Nature of My Game

It was all a little less fraught after the visit to the safe house.

Negan never tried to convince him to fuck in Alexandria again. Never brought that hellish RV around. Even the Saviors moving through town on pick-up days seemed to be on their best behavior. If they weren’t exactly courteous, at least they were civil, and it was enough of a change from the way things had been that Rick knew Negan had to be behind it. He regarded these developments with open suspicion, convinced that the restraint Negan was showing couldn’t last.

But the next pick-up went smoothly, and so did the next and the next. They slipped out together, again and again. Rick waited for the other shoe to drop, but it didn’t. _Not yet, anyway,_ he thought grimly to himself as he waited by the gates one morning, Rosita by his side, for the Saviors’ convoy to pull up.

He was conscious of the dark thoughts evaporating the moment he saw him, leaning out of the window of his truck and grinning that infuriatingly charming grin at him, all dimples and sparkling _come-here-baby_ eyes. He went, feet moving before he made the conscious decision to move them, and his own eagerness dismayed him. _Stop it,_ he scolded himself. _That’s not his real face. That’s just a mask he’s wearing because he’s in a good goddamn mood - bring up something he don’t like and see how fast it cracks open. You’ll see his real face again nice and quick, boy._

“Ready for our field trip, sheriff?” Negan rumbled as he approached, and Rick couldn’t understand _how_ everyone around them didn’t know exactly what they were out doing when they disappeared together in Negan’s truck. Hell, maybe they did. Every glance, every word Negan threw at him these days seemed to be whispering the truth to anyone who would listen.

 _I’m going to take you into the deep, dark forest and fuck you until you scream and scream and scream, because I’m the big, bad wolf, and I’ve_ got _you, little pig._

He climbed up next to him, and he was already trembling a little from the anticipation. He wanted it. He was long past any denial. If Negan was the wolf, then Rick was delivering himself to his hungry jaws willingly. But things had been better, and maybe he could dare to hope they would stay that way.

Rick watched the other man as he drove, eyes following the strong curve of his jaw and lingering on the dark smudge his lashes made around his kaleidoscope eyes. He shocked himself by reaching over to slide a hand up Negan’s thigh, slow and hungry. “Pull over,” he said huskily.

Negan had him pressed against the wall of the RV in what felt like seconds, moaning as he teased him with gentle pressure at his entrance. Rick moved his hips back, silently urging him on.

“Get on your knees,” Negan whispered hotly in his ear, and Rick’s eyes flew open as his entire body stiffened.

Negan stiffened, too, and the silence that stretched between them felt precarious. “You like it from behind,” he said finally, all soft persuasion. “Let me give it to you the way you like. Come on, Rick.”

 _Let yourself have it,_ she had said.

Rick reached wordlessly behind him and wrapped an arm around the other man’s neck, sinking slowly to his knees and dragging Negan with him. He was flush against Rick’s back with his hard, thick cock pressed hot against his ass, and Rick could feel his breath fanning the hair at his temple softly. He realized that the other man was waiting for something. “Negan,” he whispered, and suddenly he didn’t know what he was going to say. He groped for something. “Yes,” he whispered finally, and Negan’s lips descended on his neck. He thought he was going to bend him forward, take him that way, but a muscled arm snaked around his middle and clutched him back against the warm, hard chest. He felt the tip of Negan’s cock press against him intimately, nosing the softened ring of muscle at his entrance, and his heart sped up.

“Spread your knees a little wider for me, baby,” he whispered behind his ear, and Rick’s entire body shuddered as the soft breath feathered across his flushed skin again.

He obeyed, yet again, because he was always, always giving in to Negan. He could rage at himself all he wanted, but that’s what it always came down to in these moments, when they were alone and stripped bare and hungry for each other. He always, always gave in, but he was always rewarded for his surrender because Negan made him feel so goddamned _good_ , just like he was doing right now, pressing into him gently as his warm, strong hand worked his throbbing cock. Rick bit back the sobbing moan that tried to escape his lips. _It’s okay,_ he thought wildly, _things are better. Things have been better. Let yourself have it._

He let out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding as Negan sank in him to the hilt, leaning his forehead on the arm he had braced against the cold wall.

“Good, isn’t it? Isn’t it so _fucking_ good? Mmm, _Rick_ ,” he breathed, a faint tremble in his voice, “tell me it feels as fucking good for you as it does for me.”

Rick reached back and grasped at Negan’s warm hip. “Yes,” he whispered again, unable to speak anything but the truth. He closed his eyes as Negan rocked him against the wall, and everything was obliterated except for the feel of him inside. _God, that’s good,_ Rick thought deliriously. _Please forgive me. It’s good. It’s so, so good._

“So fucking good,” Negan whispered against his neck again, and it was like they were both enslaved by what echoed back and forth between them - _good, so fucking good, feels so, so..._

When Rick’s head finally cleared, he was sprawled on his side with Negan’s arm draped possessively over his waist. The other man was still breathing heavily, and the sound of it was loud and raspy in the silence.

“You know what, sheriff?” he rumbled behind him, and Rick braced himself. “Sometimes when you come, you sound like you’re fucking getting pulled apart by walkers. Piece by fucking piece.” He squeezed his waist, and Rick realized he was teasing him, without a trace of any real malice.

“Today I did,” he replied wryly. “We’ve never done it exactly like that before,” he added after a moment, and as soon as the words left his lips he cursed himself. The trick with Negan was to keep your fucking mouth shut and not give him an opening. He sounded like an ingenue, and he was sure Negan would leap on the chance to mock him for it.

Negan chuckled. “There’s lots of ways we haven’t done it yet. Stick with me, kid. We’ll work our way through the catalogue.” He kissed the back of Rick’s shoulder affectionately, and Rick felt the familiar jolt of the pure shock that always ran through him when Negan was sweet with him. _This is it,_ he thought, wonderingly. _This is the way he’s crazy. He can be like this one minute, and guaranteed if I look at him a way he don’t like he’s gonna flip right back into the guy that killed Glenn and Abe._ Negan rose behind him, and Rick froze, struck with the absurd paranoia that he had actually heard this thoughts. “Get dressed, Rick. There’s an abandoned house we need to sweep.”

Rick turned and rose up on his forearms, staring at him in surprise. “Really?”

Negan grinned at him, pulling his shirt back on. “Thought I just brought you out here to fuck?”

“Well, yeah,” Rick said. He almost smiled.

Negan tossed Rick a towel. “We can kill two birds with one stone. This old shack is out of everyone’s way, and it’s never fucking worth it to send Saviors out on a special trip.”

Rick cleaned himself up, flushing as he felt Negan’s eyes stay on him as he did. “All right.”

“What do you want to listen to, Rick?” Negan asked brightly when they had settled back into the front of the truck. He gestured towards the glove compartment. “Ass-load of tapes in there. Pick something.”

“Why do I get to chose all of a sudden?” Rick asked, cocking his head to his shoulder. He felt it again, the almost-smile, wanting to peek out. “What happened to ‘driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his fuckin' cake-hole’?”

Negan laughed, reaching over to squeeze Rick’s thigh lightly. Rick didn’t pull away. “Come on, baby, it’s our _date_ night. You saying I don’t know how to show you a good time?”

“Date night? Sun’s directly above us, Negan. It’s noon.”

Negan drummed his fingers on the wheel, chuckling. “That’s lazy, Rick. Lazy-ass back talk. You can do better than that. Come on, what do you listen to? Don’t tell me it’s that fucking awful redneck banjo shit.”

Rick felt his cheeks get warm in the incriminating silence that followed.

“Oh, shit,” Negan crowed before dissolving into helpless laughter, pounding on the wheel in his mirth.

“Keep your eyes on the goddamned road, Negan,” Rick protested. He almost, almost smiled.

—

“Are you gonna give me a weapon?” Rick asked as he climbed out of the truck, eyeing the old shack. It looked quiet, but he knew better than to assume.

Negan walked around the truck and slung an arm around Rick’s shoulder, pulling him in. “You don’t need a weapon, baby, you’ve got me,” he murmured against his temple, grinning. “But fine.” He pressed a large hunting knife in a thick sheath into Rick’s hand. “Just don’t fucking gut me with that thing, deal? Shitty way to die.”

Rick frowned and shook his head. Negan couldn’t really think he would try and kill him on one of their private “runs.” He had been over it a dozen times in his own mind when this had all started - it would gain him absolutely nothing. One of Negan’s lieutenants would seize control, and the first thing they would do is come knocking on Alexandria’s gates for revenge. They could never withstand that. Not since their guns had all been taken.

His lips pressed together in a thin line at the thought, and he pulled out of Negan’s embrace. “Thanks,” he said shortly, sliding the knife into his belt.

Negan groaned. “Here’s the fucking attitude - seriously, baby? We were getting along so _well_ a second ago, remember?” Negan grinned at him, and Rick could practically see the scene playing out in the reflection of his mischievous eyes - him on his knees, Negan behind him, inside him. _Good, so fucking good._

Rick swallowed hard and turned away. “You really think anything is left up there?” he said, nodding up towards the shack.

Negan shrugged, twirling Lucille like a baton before settling her on his shoulder. “That’s what we’re about to find out, sheriff. Lead the way.”

Rick’s doubts only deepened when he pushed the torn screen door open slowly with the toe of his boot. The house looked like it had been ransacked long ago. A thick layer of dust and grime had settled over the overturned and splintered furniture. Rick banged on the door frame and waited, listening carefully. There was no answering shuffle or rattling walker-growl, so he cautiously stepped inside. Negan breezed past him, and he reached out for him with a groan. “Not so damn fast, Negan. Give it a second. Could be walkers. Hell, could be _people_.”

“If there’s anyone here, they should come on out!” Negan’s _look-at-me_ voice boomed, impossibly loud in the stillness of the ruined house. “We’re a couple of real nice motherfuckers. Fucking _gentlemen_. Come out and say hello!” He tossed a grin over his shoulder at Rick, who glared back. “Guess we’re alone.”

“No wonder you send people out to scavenge for you,” Rick snapped before he could help himself.

Negan put a hand over his heart, face collapsing in mock-hurt. “What are you saying, Rick? You saying I _suck_?”

“Negan,” he sighed impatiently, eyes roaming the empty house as they moved, alert to signs of danger. “Stop tryin’ to get us both killed, all right?”

Negan made a low, insinuating noise in his throat as he managed to get a hand up the back of Rick’s shirt, which Rick could have sworn was tucked in securely. “Wouldn’t that be a tragedy, Ricky? Who would fuck you so _right_ if something happened to me? I’ll bet you’d cry over my grave in a black fucking veil, thinkin’ about this sweet fucking cock you’ll never get to ride again.” Negan grabbed himself through his pants, grinning with his tongue in the corner of his mouth as sent a filthy wink to Rick, whose expression had grown pinched with suppressed anger.

“It’s all a fuckin’ game to you, isn’t it?” Rick growled before he caught himself again, falling silent and shaking his head in exasperation, lips pressed tight together to stop the rest of the tirade that wanted to come raging out. This was not a date. Negan was not his oaf of a boyfriend. Negan was the tyrant with his hands on Alexandria’s throat, and he couldn’t let himself forget it. _Don’t make him angry._ He ducked his head, turning and stalking into the kitchen, hand ready on the hilt of the knife.

“Lighten the fuck up, Rick,” Negan called behind him.

Rick felt his teeth grind together at that. He found himself in the kitchen, and he scoffed as he took in the scene around him, his shoulders drooping. “Are you kiddin’, Negan? This place is cleaned out. Probably was from when this all started. There ain’t gonna be nothin’ left.”

“What the fuck kind of attitude is that, Rick? Positive thinking! You never fucking know until you try. Put good vibes out into the fuckin’ universe, man.” Negan strolled past him towards the wooden cabinets. Several them had doors wrenched completely off, revealing bare and dusty shelves. Negan paused with his hand on the knob of one of the few remaining intact cabinets and flashed a sly look over at Rick. “What do you want to bet there’s something in here, sheriff? Come on. Let’s make a wager.”

“I’ve got nothin’ to wager,” Rick shot back coldly. “Everything I’ve got is already yours, remember?”

The playful expression flew from Negan’s eyes, and Rick cringed internally, heart sinking straight into the floor. That last volley had been the step too far. Now Negan from the deep, dark woods was back, menace in his eyes and a sharp-toothed mockery of a smile on his face. “There’s always something,” Negan said. The forced jocularity of his tone was alarming, juxtaposed as it was with the hard expression in his eyes. “Think, sheriff. What do you wager?”

Rick stared up at him, mind whirling. This was a test, and he had no idea how to pass it. What did Negan want him to say? The past few weeks had been an unexpected detente, but he _knew_ it couldn’t last. He knew it. He was always just a word or look away from committing some sin in Negan’s eyes that had to be paid for in pain dealt to Alexandria. He thought of the people there and felt despair well up in him. He couldn’t keep failing them. They were stretched to their utter limit, and they had _trusted_ him to lead, to protect them. He thrust his pride away, desperate to head off wherever this was going. “Please,” he said softly. “I honestly don’t know. What do you want me to say? I’ll - I’ll bet anything you want.”

Somehow that was _still_ the wrong thing to say, he realized dully, as Negan’s lip curled into a sneer of contempt. He jerked the cabinet open wordlessly. A single can with a faded label sat on the otherwise bare shelves.

Rick’s mouth dropped open, and he gaped at the can like a fish. There was a moment of breathless silence, and then Negan collapsed into laughter, bending at the waist and clutching at the wooden pantry. Rick flinched as the laughter rolled over him, uncertain of what it meant.

Recovering, Negan plucked the can off the shelf and surged into Rick’s space. He pressed the can into his hand, still chuckling. He was back to his good humor, eyes absent of anything dangerous, and Rick could have fallen to his knees in relief. “Good thing you didn’t bet anything, sheriff,” he said lightly. “Take it. All yours.” He moved away, whistling jauntily.

Rick stood still and shocked for a moment, the can clutched tightly in his hands. Adrenaline drained slowly from him and left faint nausea in its wake. He shook his head clear after a moment and followed Negan through the archway on the other side of the kitchen. Negan was jogging up a rickety staircase, and Rick felt another surge of weary exasperation. _Don’t just run up the stairs, idiot. We might not be alone._

“Holy shit, Rick, get up here!” Negan’s voice echoed throughout the entire house as Rick cringed. He went up the steps after him, wondering how the hell the other man had made it this far with his utter lack of caution. He heard something pattering in the distance and almost stopped dead on the stairs. _It can’t be._

It was. Negan was standing in front of a running shower, grinning. “Running water,” he said wonderingly. “Doesn’t it just knock you on your ass when you find it?”

“Yeah,” Rick admitted, staring at the spray. “Yeah, it does.” Rick blinked in surprise as Negan stripped off his jacket. “You’re gonna shower?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course I’m going to fucking shower, Rick. There’s running fucking water! Are you kidding me? This shit is a goddamn miracle. We have it at the Sanctuary, but why the fuck not? I had a work out, remember?” Negan’s wolfish grin flashed out at him. “You gonna join me, sheriff? My come has gotta be running down your leg. It is, isn’t it? Has it just been dripping out this whole time?”

Rick jerked back as his face flamed, furious. Negan’s eyes sparkled at him in gleeful malice, taking in his obvious offense. Rick controlled himself with a supreme effort. “I can’t shower with you, Negan. One of us has to keep watch. The house seems clear, but we haven’t gone through all of it, and someone could still come by. It’s too big a risk for us both to let our guard down.”

“Suit yourself, sheriff,” Negan said cheerfully as he stripped off the rest of his clothes, throwing Rick a wink as he stepped out of his pants.

Rick turned and glared out into the hallway as Negan climbed into the shower, cursing.

“Fucking cold water. It’s better than nothing, but shit-fucking- _damn_ , that is colder than a witch’s tit. Maybe even colder than _you_ , lover boy,” Negan tossed at him, amusement fading from his voice. “Christ. I really fucking think I put up with way too much snotty _shit_ from you, but what can I fucking say? I guess I’m just a motherfucking sucker for a pair of big, blue eyes and a sweet ass.”

Rick could have strangled him. His fingers itched to do it. _Puts up with too much shit from me,_ Rick thought wonderingly. _He’s killed us, he’s stealing from us, he’s fucking me, and it ain’t enough._ He remembered the soft kiss the man had pressed to his shoulder earlier, and his stomach churned. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door frame.

He was so goddamned tired. He had spent most of last night poring over the inventory, double-checking and triple-checking, trying to find any kind of subtle discrepancy that could bring the Saviors’ wrath down on them. Things had been quiet, but that could all change. It could turn on a fucking _dime_ , just like the Saviors’ dizzyingly volatile leader. Behind him, Negan had begun to sing loudly. After a confused moment, Rick recognized the song as “Sympathy for the Devil,” and anger and exhaustion flowed so thick and hot through him that he didn’t hear the faint creak from the other end of the hall. He didn’t hear that, but he did hear the louder creak just a few feet away a moment later, and he jerked around, hand groping for his knife.

It was too little, too late. A heavy weight crashed into him, knocking him sprawling to the floor, and he saw a blade flash in an upraised hand. He twisted away and felt it just skim the side of his arm in a long, shallow slice before embedding into the wooden floor with a thunk. He sent an elbow shooting back and connected with his attacker, who was knocked hard into the wall. The knife skittered away across the floor, and Rick grabbed at it wildly, hand just closing over the handle before he heard the unmistakable click of a hammer falling. His blood froze in his veins. He turned his head and saw his coming death in the trembling barrel of the gun and the wide, desperate, frightened eyes of the man wielding it.

A sudden crack split the air, but it wasn’t a bullet firing from a chamber. It was a bat connecting with bone, and the gun dropped from a suddenly slack hand. Rick felt a sickening lurch in his belly as he caught a glimpse of crumpled-in skull, pink and grey peeking gruesomely out from beneath shards of jutting bone, before the man turned to stare at Negan blankly.

“Why didn’t you come out when I called, asshole?” Negan asked him conversationally before swinging Lucille again, landing another blow with an echoing, wet crunch. Blood pattered to the floor like rain for a moment before the man’s twitching body followed.

 _Oh, no,_ Rick thought, watching the man’s fingers jerk and dance in a horribly familiar way. _I can’t._ He turned himself onto his hands and knees, fighting the urge to retch. The pain in his arm kept him grounded, and he focused on the way it throbbed and ached.

“You know what,” Negan mused slowly above him. “I don’t think this prick liked my singing.”

Rick reached up and gripped his arm, squeezing until it throbbed harder. He felt a hand on his back and jerked away, heart shooting up to his throat and choking him.

“Your turn for the shower, Rick.”

Rick lifted his head to stare at him. Negan was naked, idly twirling a dripping Lucille, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. “We need to get the fuck out of here, Negan,” Rick said, speaking slowly and evenly. “There might be more.”

“You really think so? I fucking doubt it,” Negan replied, looking down the hallway. “I’m guessing they all would have come out to play.” He turned back to Rick and jutted his chin towards his soaked, red arm. “At least go rinse that shit off.”

Rick clambered slowly to his feet and pushed past him. He stripped the shirt off and leaned into the shower, hissing as the cold water struck the injured arm. He breathed into the pain, watching the tub turn crimson. He heard Negan dressing behind him, and he felt bitterness choke him. _Everything’s a fucking game to him,_ he thought furiously. He reached over and squeezed the injured arm again, letting the pain bring him back to himself.

_Don’t get angry. Don’t make him angry. Think of Carl. Think of Judith._

Rick twisted the shower off, straightening up. He turned to see Negan cutting one of the old threadbare towels into long strips with the man’s abandoned knife. _His knife now,_ Rick thought, and he almost laughed. Too bad the stranger didn’t know. Negan laid claim to everything that drew near him. He should have snuck out of the old shack when he had the chance and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction from the man with the barbed-wire bat. At least he had stopped twitching from what Rick could see of his body lying crumpled in the hallway.

“Sit, Rick. Let me wrap up the arm.” Negan’s voice broke through his thoughts. Rick looked up at him, and the dark-fringed eyes were inscrutable.

“It’s just a scratch,” he heard himself say. His head was awfully foggy, and he shook it a little.

“Fine, it’s a fucking scratch. Still wrapping it up. Sit.” Rick sat, too tired to argue. Negan bound the arm quickly and stood back, lifting Lucille to his shoulder. “All right. Feels like we overstayed our fucking welcome, so let’s boogie.”

Rick pulled his shirt back on wordlessly and rose to follow Negan out the door. He paused in the threshold, frowning down into the gory mess in the hall. The single can of food glinted up at him from a sticky-looking puddle. He retrieved it slowly and turned to find Negan staring. “Food is food,” he said dully, and he went down the stairs.

“Don’t tell me you’re fucking pissed at _me_ for that, Rick,” Negan muttered as they stepped into the open air. The day had grown cool, and the wind whipped around them. “I didn’t know the fucker was there. You didn’t either, Mr. Ace-fucking-Scavenger.”

“Daryl would have known,” Rick said. He felt like he was floating some distance away, watching the scene unfold like a spectator. He felt so light, but so cold at the same time.

Negan gripped his good arm and turned him. “Excuse the fuck out of me,” he said coldly, “but what the fuck did you say?”

“Daryl,” Rick answered from a hundred miles away. “He would have known right away someone had been through there. He always knew that kind of thing. Where is he?”

Negan was watching him warily, and there was a flash of uneasiness in his eyes at that. “The fuck are you talking about, Rick? You know exactly where he is.”

Did he know? Everything was so fuzzy suddenly. _Is he at the prison? Or is he back at the camp? Tell him I’m sorry I left Merle behind, but I’m gonna go get him, I promise. Is he at the prison? Or is he back at the camp?_ He tried to ask Negan, but his lips wouldn’t move, and suddenly everything was white.

The ground was rocking slowly beneath him like a cradle when he came to, and he realized he was on his back on the narrow cot in the RV. He licked his dry lips and let his eyes drift shut again. _You passed out,_ he told himself, and he felt shame tingle through him.

_You almost died. You lost some blood. You saw Negan beat out a man’s brains just like he did that night. It all got you spooked, so you passed out. It’s okay._

He rose slowly, feeling his head throb immediately in protest.

“Back with us, Rick?” Negan asked quietly from the driver’s seat, so quietly Rick wasn’t sure he heard him correctly.

“Yeah,” he croaked. He lifted a hand to the back of his head and felt around gingerly. “Did I hit my head or somethin’?”

“No,” Negan said after a moment. “Caught you before you went down. But I think you lost a lot of blood there, cowboy.”

Rick blinked towards the front of the truck, and he realized that Negan was offering him plausible deniability. He had to know that there was more to it than him losing blood. What had he been babbling as he went down? About Daryl and the prison? About the camp outside Atlanta? He had felt like he was outside his own body, lost in that white fog again, that _horrible_ white fog that Negan had thrust him out into not so very long ago. That fog had haunted his dreams and waking hours alike after that night in the woods, but its cold, clammy touch had been receding from him lately. _It couldn’t last,_ Rick thought sadly. He picked his way slowly back to the front of the truck, crawling into the passenger seat, wincing as he jostled his sore and stinging arm.

“Easy, Rick,” Negan admonished.

Rick blinked at him, trying to read the set expression on his face. He gave up after a few moments. His head ached.

“Who’s Merle?” Negan asked after a short silence.

Rick exhaled slowly from his nose. He wasn’t sure until that moment if he had actually spoken aloud as he had been sinking into the snowy oblivion. “Daryl’s brother. He’s dead now.”

“You left him somewhere? You were saying somethin’ about going back for him. Got a story to tell, Rick?”

There was a part of Rick that screamed at him not to give Negan any kind of information - nothing that he could end up using against them. But he was so goddamned tired, and his head was killing him, and he didn’t have the strength left to fight. “I left him handcuffed to a pipe on top of a building in Atlanta. There was a group of us, and he was dangerous. Out of control. I left him there, because things were goin’ bad, and I had to get the others out. Didn’t have a choice. Went back the first chance I got.”

“If he was such a fucking problem, why’d you go back?”

“Because he was Daryl’s brother,” Rick sighed, passing a hand over his throbbing forehead.

“You and Daryl boys before this all went down or something?”

Rick stared at him blankly. “No….no. We met right at the beginning, though.” He hesitated. “Isn’t there anyone…I mean, do you have anyone that’s been there since the beginning?”

Negan was quiet for so long that Rick thought he wasn’t going to answer. “No,” he said finally. He gave a sudden snort, shooting Rick a knowing look out of the corners of his eyes. “You wanna ask, don’t you? Go ahead. Ask. I guess I fucking owe you one.”

“You gonna make him pay for it if I do?” Rick asked softly, not as a challenge, but just because he honestly didn’t know.

Negan grit his teeth, fingers flexing on the wheel. “What did I just fucking say?” He scoffed and went on, not waiting for the question he could read plainly in Rick’s tired eyes to be spoken aloud: “He’s in one piece. He ain’t starving. Got a roof over his head. Doing a hell of a lot better for himself than a lot of the sorry fuckers left alive, come to fucking think of it.”

Rick said nothing, too tired to do anything other than quietly take the grudgingly proffered assurance. They drove in silence for a long while, and his eyes grew heavy.

“You were right,” Negan said, jerking Rick out of the light doze he had fallen into.

“‘Bout what?” he answered drowsily, turning his head to the man beside him.

“The house. Wasn’t empty.” Negan shifted in his seat. “About me, I guess,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with being out in the open. I was fucking around, and you’re the one that almost paid for it. Whatever the fuck happened to you back there, Rick -”

“Nothin’ happened,” Rick said hoarsely. “Got confused is all. Guess I hit my head.”

There was a silence, and Rick braced himself for something ugly and mocking. “Sure, darlin’,” Negan said instead, eyes staring down the road. “I guess that’s it.”

 _Don’t call me that,_ Rick wanted to say, but even though it shamed him, he felt himself grasping at the scrap of comfort. That fog had him rattled. It had come on so suddenly, filling his lungs with cold and choking him. He wanted to reach out and grasp Negan’s words like a blanket, pulling them snug and warm over himself to chase the chill away, and that was so goddamned _absurd_ because it was Negan that had shoved him out into that freezing white hell in the first place. Negan who had left him so desperate for comfort that he would accept it even from him. _From the devil,_ he thought wearily. How did the song go? _He’ll lay your soul to waste._ He was drifting off again, but to sleep instead of into the fog. He fought it anyway. This was no safe place to sleep.

“Tired, baby? Go on. We’ve got a while to drive. Go to sleep.” He sank slowly, Negan’s voice reaching him like a roll of thunder, distant but still dangerous. _Go to sleep. Go to sleep, baby. Go on._ Rumbling, ominous, and above all seductive. _Go on, baby._

He went, letting the darkness close over him like a shroud.

—

Negan watched Rick as his eyes slid closed and his breathing evened out. Sleeping. The man usually looked like he was on the edge of total exhaustion, but at first, he would _never_ sleep beside Negan. He hardly even seemed to blink around him. But he was letting his guard down, despite today’s shit show. He was at least convinced Negan wouldn’t kill him while he slumbered next to him in the car. Barely convinced, anyway.

Negan shifted in his seat, frowning. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Rick wasn’t happy about any of this shit, not really. There was usually an initial resistance when he touched him. Not in word, but in the stiffness of his body and the hard set of his lips. It usually took coaxing on Negan’s part - with his lips and hands wandering, caressing, tracing silent persuasion onto his skin. Eventually Rick would give in, become soft and receptive, hands running all over Negan’s body and setting his skin to burn in the wake of their hungry exploration. Negan understood that in those moments of surrender, Rick Grimes hated himself more than he hated him, and somewhere deep inside the blackened, blighted ash that was the remainder of his heart, something almost hurt.

There was no resistance this morning, though. Rick had touched him first, hand sliding almost shyly up his thigh. He had fucked up _that_ little bit of progress pretty good. He wouldn’t listen to Rick, hadn’t been careful, and it had nearly gotten the man knifed to death in an empty shack in the middle of nowhere for no good goddamn reason at all.

He felt fucking bad about that. About how all of it had went down. About the thousand-yard stare on Rick’s face afterwards. About the way he had turned white as a sheet, murmuring odd, disjointed questions as he slumped to the ground. Questions about dead men. Dead cities, too, it sounded like. Atlanta had been bombed to shit; he had heard as much from other survivors.

 _Hell,_ Negan thought to himself ruefully, _I’ve fucking been there._ You were prone to start seeing dead things when you got that fucking close to the other side, when you felt Death’s icy, rotted breath at your neck as he crept up behind you on skeleton feet. Yeah, he felt shitty about it, and not because he thought it was going to cost him the tail.

He felt shitty because he liked him. He fucking _liked_ him. He had liked him before he met him, even when he was still thinking about killing him. It had been a long time since he had been dealt a blow like the one Rick Grimes had dealt him, and he began to _like_ the faceless man that had dared to pull his dick out and piss on his territory. He wanted to _meet_ this man. And then he did, and he saw that he wasn’t the mad dog he had imagined. He supposed he should have been disappointed, but somehow, with Rick Grimes…he liked him _more_.

There was something still so achingly human about him - something you rarely saw these days. And that had been his downfall that night, because Negan had known to grip that human heart in his hands and squeeze until Rick shivered to pieces like a glass thrown against the wall. His intuition had whispered in his ear and told him exactly how he could keep a man like Rick Grimes in line - by pointing Lucille at everyone but him. And he _liked_ him for it. He felt the lack of an answering humanity in himself all the more keenly when he was around him, and he remembered that its loss was something to be grieved. For a little while, anyway. Just for a little while, until he had to get back to the business of surviving and ensuring that his people survived. Humanity and survival made a poor match these dark days. Negan had learned that over and over and over again. Now it was Rick’s turn.

He watched him sleep out of the corner of his eye, and something primal stirred in him. Half of him wanted to tear that human heart right out of him before it got him fucking killed, and the other half wanted to put him under glass like the rare and precious thing he was. Exhibit A, human with humanity intact, a creature undergoing a rapid extinction.

Either way, he wanted to protect him.

That revelation flared up bright and hot in his stunned mind, and he almost started laughing out loud. Protect him from what? From the reality of the brutal survivor’s game the world had dissolved into?

 _From you,_ the ghostly echo of Lucille’s voice whispered in his mind. _You’re the threat, baby._

His expression grew hard and angry. He drove on, keeping his eyes stubbornly on the road and away from the man stupid enough to sleep next to his enemy with his head thrown back and soft, white throat bared.

—

Rick pulled the gate shut behind him wearily. The can stuffed into his jacket pocket knocked heavily against his hip as he checked the locks in his familiar routine. He nodded at the young man standing guard, who shot him a look of fear mixed with sympathy. Rick almost smiled. Who knows what he thought Rick had just been through with Negan? The way Negan snarled and swung Lucille around when he was in town, there was no reason to believe it would be anything pleasant. _It ain’t exactly pleasant,_ Rick thought tiredly, _but it ain’t what you think, either, man._

He trudged along the dusty path into town, and he stopped short when he saw a lone figure standing in the middle of the road off in the distance. He drew warily closer, trying to make out the person’s features in the inky darkness of the night. He saw with a start that it was Rosita, arms crossed, dark hair unbound and tumbling into her face.

“You’re fucking him,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Rick was struck dumb, and he stood as still as a statue before her.

Rosita searched his face, and she gave a hard nod. “Is he making you? Holding something over you?”

“No,” Rick whispered hoarsely, burning with shame. “It’s not like that.”

She stared hard at his face, as if trying to read the truth there. She tossed her head with a sudden scoff, turning to pace the road before him like a furious tiger. “You’re fucking him, and he’s still taking half our shit? You can’t even fucking…like, negotiate down to a quarter of our shit? I mean, damn, Rick! Maybe you fucking _suck_ at banging!” She let out a sudden, ragged sob, and it landed in Rick’s heart like the thrust of a dagger.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He chanted it like a prayer for absolution, and Rosita flew towards him and gripped him by the shoulders, giving him a hard shake. Despite her willowy, graceful frame, she was strong, and Rick felt his teeth rattle in his head.

“Shut up,” she said tearfully, “just shut the fuck up, Rick. You think I haven’t been there? I’m not here to fucking come at you. I’ve run with dudes I fucking knew were bad news. But _him_?” she sobbed again, half-laughing as she stabbed a finger towards the gates. “ _That_ guy? Holy shit, Rick. This is what happens when you’re such a fucking square - you get a taste of something bad, y te vuelves _loco_. That fucking guy?” She wiped at her eyes, and Rick stared at her helplessly. “That dude is dangerous, Rick,” she said quietly, mastering her tears. “Don’t you ever fucking forget how dangerous he is. You be _careful_ ,” she said, her dark eyes suddenly fierce and blazing up at him. “I’m fucking _done_ losing people.” She turned and stalked away without another word.

Rick stood looking after her for a long time before he finally resumed his walk home, feeling like he was dragging an anchor behind him with every weary step.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Negan's a classic rock guy, right? The Stones! Not gonna lie, I've been waiting for an opportunity to use "Sympathy for the Devil" in a Regan fic, lol.
> 
> Even though it's too cute for the tone of the story, I just had to sneak the Supernatural reference in when the opportunity presented itself. ^^ I Negan-ed the line up a little, but there it is.


	5. Between the Wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, folks! I’m sorry that updates are taking forever, but I’m slammed with Responsibilities. Life, right? Boooo. I actually have a couple Regan week one-shots I'm still trying to finish up and post, if you can believe that. That's how little free time I've had. But enough whining! Let's do this thing!
> 
> Title is from Allman Brown’s “Between the Wars,” a song that pretty much makes you want to lie face down on the floor and sob uncontrollably.

The day after the near-miss at the shack, when Rick’s arm still stung with the unpleasant reminder, a single truck rumbled up to Alexandria’s gates. Rick heard the shout go up as he sat at his kitchen table with Michonne and Carl, poring over a map of the surrounding area and trying to methodically plot their previous scavenges. They had long run out of easy targets, and they were damn near running out of hard ones, and it had gotten to the point where they were revisiting picked-over spots for scraps they might have missed.

“Stay here, Carl,” he said as he rose, his chair screeching over the wood. “Judith’s here,” he added swiftly, catching the immediate defiance that filled his son’s eyes. “I need you to be here with her.”

Carl slumped back in his seat with a frown. “What the fuck do they want? It’s not a pick-up day,” he said sharply, and Rick had to fight the absurd urge to scold him for his language. It felt like the teen had been using a hell of a lot more four-letter words since Negan entered their lives.

“I don’t know. Probably nothing. Just look after your sister, all right?”

Carl lifted his remaining blue eye to him, its expression penetrating and far older than the boy to whom it belonged. “You can’t keep me locked up in the house whenever they come by, Dad. Not forever.”

Rick wasn’t surprised in the least that Carl had come to see through his transparent attempts to keep him out of the Saviors’ crosshairs - he was always his mother’s son. Rick had seen that same _I see what you’re doing_ expression in Lori’s eyes countless times. He hesitated in front of him, an uneasy flutter in his chest. He couldn't keep him away from it all forever, no - Rick knew that. But he could keep him away from it today. “Just look after your sister,” he said softly, imploring. He gave Carl’s shoulder a quick squeeze before he shot out the front door, Michonne a half-step behind him.

They arrived just as Rosita did, her hands fluttering at her side for a weapon that hadn’t been there in a long, long time. “What the fuck is this shit?” she muttered, staring at the gate as it was rolled back. “They’re not supposed to be here so fucking soon.”

Rick almost smiled at the echo of Carl’s words. It was what they were all thinking; Rick could see the question etched on the fearful faces of the handful of Alexandrians that they had hurried past in their haste to get to the gate. He had already decided that there could only be one person responsible for the unexpected visit, so when the gates rolled back to reveal Arat, arms crossed and eyes holding their familiar hard expression, he felt a jolt of surprise. She was standing beside a truck, flanked by a handful of other Saviors,

“Back it in,” Arat called to the driver as she walked through the gates. “Got shit to drop off,” was all she offered by way of explanation as she neared Rick and the others, lapsing right back into her usual frosty silence.

“What?” Rick asked blankly.

Arat glanced at him and then gestured towards the other Saviors as they swarmed the back of the truck and began unloading crates. _See for yourself,_ her eyes said. Rick stepped forward to look into the dark interior, and he felt another, more electric jolt as he realized that he was looking at what Alexandria had handed over the day prior. Some of it, anyway - maybe a good half. He turned slowly to face Arat, his face a mask of incomprehension.

“He said he lost a bet,” Arat said, her tawny eyes cool and unreadable. Rick couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the corner of her mouth give the barest twitch.

“He didn’t come?” Rick asked before he could stop himself, and he cringed immediately at the accidental insinuation in it. He thought he saw Arat’s mouth give another of those microscopic twitches.

“Not today. Handling shit somewhere else.”

Rick stared at her, thoughts swimming confusedly through his mind. He was aware that he wasn’t going to get any answers from the reserved woman before him, although he had a feeling that she could supply a few if she wanted. “Thanks, Arat,” he said finally, his tone soft and sincere, eyes sweeping the pile of crates accumulating on the dusty ground.

She spun hard on her heel at that. “Don’t thank _me_ ,” she said, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion, apparently disarmed by what Rick was trying to offer her. She caught herself, and her expression smoothed out and hardened into her stoic mask. “I’m not the one that lost the bet.” She lifted her hand in a casual salute before she strode away, climbing back into the truck.

Rick watched it disappear into the distance, Michonne and Rosita beside him.

“A quarter of our shit,” Rosita said wryly. “Well fuck me, Rick. I take it back. Good ho-in’.”

Apparently the look Rick turned back on her at that was eloquent, because she laughed, eyes crinkling. It was the first real laugh Rick had heard in a long time from her, with no pain there to poison it, and he felt an answering warmth fill his chest as he smiled hesitantly back.

“Tell her it takes one to know one, Rick,” Michonne suggested cheerfully behind him, and Rosita clicked her tongue, grinning.

“Careful, mama, I’ll take my earrings out,” she said with mock-seriousness as she bent to retrieve one of the crates. She walked off towards the storeroom, still snickering, leaving Rick and Michonne behind her.

Rick felt melancholy return to him in the silence that lingered. “I shouldn’t be grateful that he’s givin’ back something he stole in the first place,” he observed quietly.

Michonne shifted on her feet. “No,” she agreed, “but are you?” The answer was in the guilty silence that fell over him. She reached up and squeezed his shoulder gently before moving to pluck up a crate, leaving him alone with his uneasy thoughts. He stood with his head down for a few minutes, feeling the weight of his unhappiness and shame pulling his heart down through the ground beneath his feet.

This was an apology. Not a lost bet - _Rick_ had lost their bet. Was that why Negan hadn’t come himself? Because he couldn’t bear to swallow his pride and bear witness to his own act of contrition? Rick tried to hold onto the bitterness of that thought, but it slipped right through his fingers. That was what shamed him now: that he couldn’t be angry. That he wanted him here, now, in front of him. That his body was already tingling with the thought of what he would do to him if he were.

 _This is how he fucking does it,_ he told himself wearily. Negan was fucking _sly_ : he starved him, and then he threw him scraps and reaped the fucking gratitude.

Rick scrubbed his hands over his face and leaned his head back, looking up to the sky. “You’re fucking pathetic,” he muttered aloud to himself. The cloudy grey expanse offered no contradiction.

—

Negan never mentioned returning half of the tribute. Rick couldn’t bring himself to ask about it. Every possible explanation had its own set of teeth. Maybe it was all a big joke to Negan and sending back part of the tribute was his way of adding to the punchline. Maybe he didn’t want Rick to stop putting out and was trying to placate him. Maybe he wanted to remind him how little he needed what he was taking from Alexandria. Maybe he pitied him.

The last one made Rick’s stomach churn.

So he let it go, but for weeks afterwards Rick knew his kisses tasted like the gratitude he was ashamed of feeling.

—

“Goin’ on a little trip. It’ll be a few weeks before I’m back. You gonna miss me?” Negan grinned at him from where he lay a foot or so away on the bed. Close enough to touch, but Rick wouldn’t let himself. They were in another one of his safe houses, a cabin perched on an overlook that looked like something out of a travel catalogue from the old world - _visit scenic Virginia!_

“Who’s gonna lead the pick-ups?” Rick asked, lowering his eyes to the crisp white sheet stretched over the bed between them.

“Arat. My girl. You’re gonna be good for her, aren’t you?”

Rick was fine with Arat. She was fiercely loyal to Negan and enforced his rules with an iron fist, and she got rough at the slightest hint of a lapse on Alexandria’s part, but he had never known her to be cruel just for the sake of it, unlike many of the others. Unlike Simon. As long as the tribute didn’t come up short, there wouldn’t be a problem, and the tribute wasn’t going to come up short because he, Aaron, and Rosita had stumbled on an abandoned 18-wheeler filled to the brim with dried and canned goods just the other day. It was the most they come across in ages and enough to feel like plenty for weeks to come, even after the pick-ups, and Rick had felt downright _giddy_ since.

“Rick.”

He looked up at Negan. “Hmm?”

Negan snorted in amusement, reaching out to tangle a hand in his hair and tug lightly. Not enough to hurt. Just a light tease. “What the hell are you thinking, sheriff? I’d love to fucking know.”

“I like Arat,” Rick said simply. “She’s got a short fuse, but she’s…she’s a straight-shooter.”

Negan blinked at him, no doubt surprised to hear him praise one of his soldiers. “Yeah. That’s what she is. But you still didn’t answer the fucking question, Rick. You gonna miss me?”

Rick licked his lips and stretched. He still felt tranquil and relaxed from his release. The bed was warm. The sheets beneath him were soft and clean. The room was lit dimly. It was all a sweet lie - the comfort, the coziness, the way he felt just now, like he wanted to close the distance between them and press himself against Negan’s body, not as a prelude to more sex, but just to bask in the feel of it. He let himself go into the lie. “I won’t know until you’re gone,” Rick said, giving him a smile that was almost coy.

The answer came sixteen days later exactly, when Negan showed up alone and outside of their scheduled pick-up day for the first time since this had all began.

“Well?” he chuckled as Rick emerged striding from the gates of Alexandria to meet him, leaving a baffled and alarmed guard behind him with a few reassuring words. “What’s the fucking verdict? You miss me or what? I fucking missed you, blue eyes.” He licked his lips slowly, arms crossed as he leaned up against the side of his truck. His hungry eyes on Rick as he approached were almost black. “Fuck, you look like ice-water on a hot day, baby.”

Rick found his voice. “Let’s go,” he said, and it came out a command.

Negan’s smile inched up the side of his face. “Go? You’re not gonna invite me in?”

Rick held his eyes for a long moment. “We’ll be too loud.”

Negan kept one hand on the wheel as he drove; the other was occupied with Rick - sliding up his thigh, his back, catching at his curls. Rick’s heart thudded against his chest, and he couldn’t help but arch into the touches. He gave a faint gasp when Negan’s fingers brushed over the bulge swelling the front of his jeans, and Negan dragged his head in for a hungry kiss as the car continued to bump and swerve on the narrow road. Rick made a faint noise of protest, eyes dragging towards the windshield in alarm, and he had to grip the wheel and tweak it to keep them from flying right off into the woods. Negan laughed wildly against Rick’s lips.

Rick broke the kiss with a shaky inhale, lungs burning from deprivation. “Pull over,” he rasped, blue eyes laser-bright on the other man, and Negan obeyed instantly. Rick seized him by the arm of his leather jacket and practically wrenched him into the back of the truck, pushing him to the floor and crawling over him. He was greedy for the feel of him, and his hands were everywhere: under his white teeshirt, slipping into the waistband of his pants, sliding over and kneading every inch of warm skin he could reach. There was a part of him that was shocked - at himself and at Negan for allowing him to take this much control - but it was drowned out in the flood of lust that had been loosed in him.

Goddamn the man to hell; he _had_ missed him, and his body was reacting like it had been starving and had stumbled on a feast. He ground his clothed ass against Negan’s arousal urgently, and the other man groaned through gritted teeth.

“You wanna ride me, cowboy? Is that it?” Negan growled, tearing at Rick’s belt and the fastening of his pants. It was a clumsy few minutes of fumbling with clothes before Rick was straddling him again, rocking their naked erections together and unable to stop the long, low, pained-sounding moan that left his throat at the electric contact. Fingers sank into the flesh of Rick’s hips, their bruising grip wringing out another moan. Negan tugged at him frantically. “Up,” he panted, “up, up.”

Rick had no idea what he meant, but he crawled up his body hesitantly, following his direction. It clicked a moment before it happened - Negan’s warm, wet mouth engulfed his throbbing cock, and he fell to his elbows with a pitiful-sounding whine. He pressed his face into the cold floor, feeling his entire body loosen and shudder helplessly under the onslaught. Slick fingers were inside him without warning, and Rick muffled a ragged cry into the floor that left his throat aching. His nails scrabbled against the cheap linoleum as the pleasure Negan mercilessly dealt overtook him. It had been too long, and at the rate things were going, it was going to be over far, far too soon. As if sensing his thoughts, Negan released Rick from his mouth with a wet, sticky-sounding noise and slapped his ass hard. Rick cried out, the pleasure shooting straight through to his cock.

“That’s good enough. Get on my dick and show me what you’ve got, killer. Don’t fucking disappoint me.”

Rick found himself scrambling to obey, and he knew he was going to excoriate himself for that later. For that and for all of it - for _missing_ him and for making no attempt to hide how much he had. He was going to be sick with himself for all of it for days and maybe weeks to come, but right now, right now…he was _lost_. He took him into his body with sobbing, hissing breaths, and Negan surged up, gripping his arms and sealing his mouth against his throat as Rick’s head dropped straight back.

He thrust up into him, too hard and too fast, and Rick gasped, face contorting in pain. Negan swore, stilling himself before gripping the back of Rick’s head and bringing him in close, lips on his ear. “Shh,” he soothed, “it’s all right, baby. You don’t mind it rough, do you, killer? Tell me the truth. You fucking love it, wild man. _Killer._ You fucking cold-ass _motherfucker_ , you _love_ it fucking rough, don’t you?”

Rick was speeding up, rising and sinking on him until he was galloping, horrified at how the sordid words at his ear spurred him on.

“That’s right, baby,” Negan groaned, “that’s right, that’s right, that’sssri-ahh…” he faded into a slurring moan, falling back to his elbows.

Rick felt it when it happened - the shift in power. Negan fell to his back, and his lashes fluttered as he panted beneath him. Rick slid a hand up his heaving chest and then raked his nails down, leaving thin, red lines. Negan accepted it, head falling back further as he gave a breathy cry. _So that’s what it feels like,_ Rick thought, amazed. It was intoxicating. Negan beneath him, mindless with pleasure. Rick stared at him as if he were seeing him for the first time. _He’s beautiful,_ he thought wonderingly. As dangerous and unpredictable as wildfire and every bit as devastatingly cruel. Every bit as wildly beautiful. And just then, he was all his, and that was just _intoxicating_.

“Look at me,” Rick panted, gratified when the dark, gleaming eyes sprang open with startling obedience. _Beautiful,_ he thought again. Those eyes were fucking beautiful; had he not realized that before? The colors shifted like the flashing heart of a precious stone. He slid a slick, sweating hand up Negan’s chest to his throat and squeezed, letting his fingers sink into the soft flesh and feeling the pulse throbbing against his palm like a hammer. The answering smile was all teeth.

“Killer,” Negan whispered, drawing out the word slowly, caressingly, as if it were the sweetest lover’s epithet.

“That’s right,” Rick agreed, adding the concession to the pile of things he would scourge himself for later. He straightened up and rode him _hard_ , this monster of a man that saw straight down to his darkest, most shameful pieces. He worked himself over the steely length inside until that man was as lost as he was, lost in the delirium their bodies created together. He couldn’t be sure who came first or whose shriek was echoing in his ears as Negan erupted hot and wet inside of him. That moment seemed suspended in eternity: heat filling him, his back arched like a bow, his eyes unseeing, breath still in chest. When he began to breathe again in soft, heaving gasps, he slid shakily off the man beneath him. He collapsed bonelessly beside him, exhausted and shuddering as Negan’s release leaked slowly and thickly from within, coating his hot, flushed, trembling thighs. He noted with satisfaction that his own release was splashed across Negan’s muscular belly, and he shocked himself by dragging fingers slowly through it, letting his nails rake the skin beneath.

Negan’s arm slid beneath him, wrapping around his shoulders. “Hoo, _shit_ ,” he whispered, and he carded his fingers through Rick’s hair with a shocking gentleness. “That was some _shit_ , cowboy. You really come alive in the saddle, don’t you?”

Rick felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Cowboy, huh?” he murmured, trying to cover his embarrassment and confusion - Negan’s touch was too soft, too much like a real lover’s. “That make you the bronco?”

Negan grinned at him. “Mm-hm. And you stayed on. Good for you. Winner winner, chicken dinner.”

Rick stretched languidly beside him. “I need a goddamn _shower_ ,” he sighed, and as much as he fought it he couldn’t suppress the chuckle that left him as Negan all but howled with laughter beside him.

—

Rick could see the entire insane arc of it for what it was when he was alone. He and his group, his town, had been conquered. They worked to line the pantries of the Saviors, barely able to hang onto enough to feed themselves, and when Negan came to collect, Rick would lie back, spread his legs, and let him fuck him as his people raided Alexandria’s stores. In quiet moments, it could knock the fucking breath out of him with its tragic absurdity.

The problem was that quiet moments didn’t exist within the reach of Negan’s hand, and when that man with the hungry snarl-smile of a beast of prey got near him, he couldn’t _think_. He was _intoxicating_ : his heat, his bold, wandering hands, his voice growling in his ear, the scent of leather that always clung to him, even after his jacket had long been shed. Rick would sink into that intoxication every time, because Negan made him feel so _good_ , so mouth-wateringly _good_ , that it robbed him of all conviction. Sometimes the man would kiss him, touch him so gently that he forgot where he was and who he was with because it felt so warm and sweet and right. Hell, maybe he was doing that on purpose. Maybe this was another game, another way for him to win and Rick to lose, getting the man who swore to kill him to pant after him like a stricken teenager.

 _You belong to me,_ he had said that night, and it was prophecy, fulfilled in flesh.

But it wasn’t enough, of course, for Negan to have the evidence in his arms; he was a predator by nature, insatiable, never finished with the hunt.

 _Who do you belong to?_ As many times as Rick answered with his body, Negan never stopped asking. _Who do you belong to, baby?_

He would whisper it so softly that it was barely more than an exhale formed into smoke-rings of sound as he rocked lazily into him, all stroking hands and slow, wet kisses. He would growl it as he fucked him roughly, Rick screaming himself hoarse as his body shook beneath the onslaught of pleasure. He kept asking, again and again.

_Who do you belong to? Who do you belong to? Who do you belong to, baby?_

Rick came dangerously close to giving in once. He had let Negan talk him into fucking in the backseat of an abandoned car in an open field, and the sheer, breathtaking _stupidity_ of it was aphrodisiac. He floated back down to earth slowly, body twined and tangled with the man he couldn’t stop giving himself to.

“Who do you belong to, darlin’?” Negan whispered coaxingly in his ear. “Come on. Just let me hear you say it. Come on, baby.”

The way he felt, limbs loose and trembling from his release, mind drifting in a blissful haze, he almost let the sultry voice at his ear lull him into obedience. He pulled back at the last moment, shaking his head clear. “Don’t call me that,” Rick said hoarsely, horrified at how close he had come to this last, horrible surrender.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Negan chuckled knowingly in his ear.

Rick shivered at that, because that soft, sticky-sweet word felt like the proof that Negan was winning the war of attrition that was their strange little entanglement. He had long learned to just endure the pet names. He had fought every single utterance at first: _don’t call me baby, don’t call me honey, don’t call me darlin’, don’t call me sweetheart._ Negan would just roll his eyes and sigh like he was the most put-upon and patient man left in the world and go right on with it. And soon enough, the protests died off completely, and the battle was won.

It wasn’t all surrender, though - it would be easier, less guilty, if that’s all it was. But Rick had long abandoned that lie. It shamed him, it _grieved_ him, but that was the truth. It wasn’t all surrender.

—

“I know it’s hard for you, sheriff. Having to wait so long to get stuffed full of my dick,” Negan was saying in a falsely concerned tone as he stood in front of Rick where he sat on the small bench in the back of the RV. He had showed up outside of a pick-up day again, as he did more and more frequently these days. “I’ll bet you’d take it every day if you could, Ricky boy. Am I right or am I fucking right? Well, don’t worry, sweetheart, daddy’s here.”

Rick let his scornful glare be his answer.

“God, I missed that _evil_ look you give me.” Negan clicked his tongue at him and grinned. “Turn around and bend over for me, baby. I’m gonna give it to you so fucking good today.”

Rick readied his counter-attack and charged. “No,” he said, chin thrust out and eyes hard and defiant, “find me a bed. I wanna fuck on a bed, _baby._ ”

Negan paused from yanking his belt from his jeans, and he let the leather fall from his hands and dangle against his thighs. He had been struck silent, a fucking miracle, and his expression was incredulity and lust tangled together. He turned and marched wordlessly to the front of the truck, belt still half-free and swinging around his hips.

Rick slid further into the upholstered bench around the camper’s small table and smiled to himself as the engine roared to life beneath him.

“Any other fucking requests, princess?” Negan called from the driver’s seat. The taunt was fully undone by the strained, breathless quality of his voice.

Rick’s smile widened. _Got you._ “Yeah,” he called back. He leaned forward on his elbows and gathered his nerve. “I want it hard today. I want you to take me apart, _baby_. Think you can deliver?”

The strangled “Jesus _Christ_ ” that Negan muttered from the front seat was barely audible. He drove them at breakneck speed until they pulled up at one of the Saviors’ safe houses.

The sex was primal. Sweat ran off them both in rivulets, and Rick was sure the heavy wooden headboard was going to crack the damn drywall. Rick let himself scream - scream curses, filthy encouragement, the name of the man fucking him like an animal, and just _sound_ when he was too far gone for anything else.

“We really make some fucking magic together, don’t we, baby?” Negan had said after they collapsed, exhausted and sweating, against the tangled, damp sheets. He reached up and wiped the sweat from Rick’s forehead, letting his hand fall to his damp cheek. “Well? Did I fucking _deliver_?” he demanded with a chuckle.

Rick was drifting on a haze of bliss from his release. “Did I?” he managed to lob back with great effort.

Negan grunted as he shifted to lie on his back. “Every time, cowboy,” he sighed, “you know exactly what the fuck you're doing with that hot fucking body, don't you?” He reached down and took Rick’s hand, entwining their fingers, and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

 _Charmer,_ Rick thought wearily. It was a side of Negan he had come to see more and more of - a side not even _wholly_ absent from their first meetings. He was possessed of a magnetic, almost hypnotic charm that was the other, softer face of the raging _speak when you’re spoken to_ dominating that had characterized their first fateful encounter. He was a Jekyll-and-Hyde of bending people to his will, adept with both threats and seduction. That Rick was lying beside him, sore, spent, and fucked into a near stupor, was a testament to the latter.

That’s what the pet names were about, Rick decided. He had taken them for a power play; they must have been at first, and they probably still were from time to time, deployed with the stinging precision of a pebble launched from a slingshot. But not always. Sometimes it was just _charm_ , flowing over him like honey, thick and sugar-sweet. And it _would_ be sweet, those names, the softer moments, the way Negan turned on that siren act for him sometimes, if he meant it. If he _could_ mean it.

But Rick knew better. Nothing had really changed; nothing important. Glenn and Abe were still dead, Daryl was still a captive, and Alexandria still had to scrape and starve to hand over tribute to the Saviors. Rick may have been fucking the man responsible, may have even started to _like_ him to his own dismay, but he was clear-eyed about the situation in which he and the people he felt responsible for found themselves. No matter how much the easy times and lucky hauls had softened and blurred the truth, Rick held it in his heart, because Negan himself had branded it there when he covered him in the still-hot blood of his friends. There was no safety here, underneath it all. As he had told Negan not so very long ago, he hadn’t forgotten. He hadn’t forgotten _anything_.

But right now, Alexandria’s coffers were full, and that meant an uneasy and tenuous peace with the Saviors. As long as it lasted, Rick could let himself have what he wanted, although he did so with a generous helping of bitter guilt every time.

Right now, what he wanted was to turn into Negan’s side and press against his warmth as the sweat drying on his damp skin chilled him, so he let himself have that. Negan snaked an arm beneath him and pulled him closer, running his hand up over his back, still all charm. He paused with his hand up at the back of Rick’s shoulder, fingers tracing the rough scar tissue there, and Rick felt the soft huff of amused breath stir the curls at his forehead.

“Getting shot’s a _bitch_ , ain’t it, baby?”

Rick gave a mirthless laugh in reply. “Yeah, it is.”

“New world or the old?”

“For that one? Old,” Rick murmured. “It happened on the job.” His eyes were growing heavy, and he let his head settle against Negan’s shoulder, prepared to drift off to sleep. He wasn’t entirely surprised when the other man gave him a firm shake.

“Oh, no, Rick. No fucking way. You’re not gettin’ off that easy. Take me on a journey. I want the surround-sound experience.”

Rick lifted his head and shot him an annoyed look. “Really, Negan? You that excited to hear about how I almost died? You’re a real asshole, you know?”

Negan laughed, sliding a hand up the inside of his thigh. “I know.” He kissed Rick’s bare shoulder in a kind of apology.

Rick sighed and stretched a little, eyes moving far away. “I was with my partner, my…my best friend at the time. We were talking, eating lunch, and then we got a call in about a getaway. Set up spikes and waited. Car flipped over when it hit the spikes, but the boys inside came out shooting. I caught one in the vest, and my partner put the shooter down. I thought it was clear, and I got distracted - I jumped up, started yellin’ at ‘im, tryin’ to make him promise not to tell my wife how close it was.” Rick gave a rueful chuckle. “None of us saw the second shooter. Got me right at the damn edge of the vest. I was _sure_ I was dead,” he went on quietly, “and I…I couldn’t think of anything except that my wife and I…we had had some ugly words that mornin’. That’s what I was talkin’ to my partner about, before we got the call. It had all happened in front of Carl, and I blamed her. I felt so, so righteous about it, too - the way I blamed her. And then I was on my back in the dirt, everything goin’ black the way it does in movies, thinkin’ to myself…hell, this _is_ like a shitty movie. Like a shitty Lifetime movie. Have a fight with your wife, in front of your boy, leave the house blamin’ her for every problem you have - then get shot before you have a chance to make things right.”

“Did you?” Negan asked, fingers still tracing the thick scar.

“Did I what?”

“Did you make things right?”

Rick was silent for a moment. “No,” he said slowly, and the grief felt like bitter poison in his belly and throat. “I don’t think I ever really did.” He felt a light squeeze on his thigh, and he looked up at Negan.

“Regret kills, baby,” he murmured, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. “Let it go.”

Rick found himself reaching for him, and his fingertips grazed his jaw before he remembered himself and dropped his hand. “You sayin’ you’re not carryin’ around any regrets? Seems impossible.”

Negan gave a faint snort, tossing his head. “Oh, I do. I carry ‘em around every day.” His eyes flicked to the third wheel in the room, leaning against the wall and glinting silver and sly in the low light. Then he frowned, face growing closed off.

Rick looked back at the weapon in the corner, puzzled. Then it clicked. It should have been obvious, really, but it had never been. Not until that very moment. “Lucille,” he said slowly. He hesitated for a moment, and then his fingers crept back to Negan’s jaw, sliding over the rough scrape of stubble there as Negan’s dark lashes hid his eyes from view.

“Oh, what the hell,” Negan said after a silence. “Why not? You wanna trade shitty stories, Rick? My girl died the day it all started. Wanna guess how? You will never in a million fucking _years_ guess how.”

Rick frowned, feeling dismay tug at him. He remembered his first days in the new world - the bewilderment, the disbelief. Every moment was a fresh terror. Every move you made was fraught - a dance with death, unknown and unknowing. When it all began, people must have died by the thousands, the hundred-thousands, just by doing what they did every day. Running to each other for safety. He ducked his head, shaking it, unable to answer.

Negan rose slowly to hover over Rick, propping himself up on his forearms. “Cancer,” he said quietly. He took Rick’s shocked, bewildered stare with a humorless smile. “She was dying for almost a year. She died that day, of cancer, in her hospital bed. I heard the commotion outside, but…” he trailed off, eyes focusing on something distant, something gone. “I thought I lost my fucking mind. I mean…I _was_ losing my mind, every damn day, watching her slip away from me. The shit I did…I did not fucking deal with it well. Does that surprise you, Rick? I did not deal with my emotions in a healthy way. _Fuck_ no. I saw her open her eyes and start moving in that fucking awful way they have, like they were taken apart and put back together and nothing fucking _syncs up_ anymore. I watched that shit and thought, fuck. This is it. I’ve finally lost every last fucking marble I had left.”

Rick felt his heart grow heavier and heavier as he spoke, and it occurred to him for the first time right then and there that Negan was just a man. Not a fiend, no matter how much he seemed like one with _his girl_ raised high over his head, dripping red and wearing her crown of thorns. Just a man with a sad story about his dead wife, like Rick. A man who had twined a gleeful cruelty around himself like the barbed wire on Lucille, set to slice into the encroaching world and make it bleed for daring to try and dig into his soft parts, and who despite all that, despite all that he had done and could do, would never be able to fully exorcise the despair that was the surest, truest, bitterest reminder of his own humanity. “I’m sorry,” Rick said quietly, voice thin and strained, “that’s...that's goddamn _awful._ "

Negan looked searchingly into his eyes and face for a long, silent stretch, and whatever he found made his eyes widen for a moment. “You are, aren’t you? You _are_ sorry for me,” he said quietly. “You fucking idiot.”

Rick came back to himself with a slight flinch, and he began to draw away from the other man’s arms.

And just like always, Negan seemed compelled to give chase. He crawled over him, trapping Rick between his arms. “Come on, lover boy,” he whispered, “let’s fuck the pain away. We’re fucking great at that, aren’t we? You and me, Rick, we set off some fucking fireworks, don’t we?”

Rick hesitated, and he felt that wistful sadness creep back over him. He nodded wordlessly and reached for Negan, who went eagerly, fitting himself against Rick’s warm, hard body in their familiar way. Their mouths met, soft, slow, and wet. Negan turned Rick gently onto his side before surging behind him, pulling him back into his embrace as he slid into him. Rick’s head fell against his shoulder as he panted through the ache of being filled, and kisses dripped onto every inch of him that Negan could reach - his damp curls, his forehead, the crest of his cheekbone, his temple.

“Let it go,” Negan murmured, and his voice was velvet-soft, soothing over Rick like a balm. “Let it all go, baby. You belong to me now. Come on, darlin’. Say you belong to me.”

Rick didn’t know what came over him - whether it was boldness, insanity, or just a brief surfacing of a miserable, impossible, _terrible_ longing that he dared not dwell on. “You belong to me,” he answered, the words shivering out breathily as Negan moved within him, sending slow waves of pleasure traveling lazily up his spine and down his legs.

Negan’s hips faltered behind him for a moment before he slid a warm hand up Rick’s chest and pressed his palm over the beating heart there. He resumed rocking into him, his thrusts long and slow and deep, and for once, he said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't wake me yet / don't wake me yet / and still the rest / hasn't happened, hasn't happened yet. *cue the sick piano melody*


	6. Drop Me High...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this extreme bummer of a chapter into two pieces, maybe to make them more palatable? I don't know if it actually works that way! Chapter title is from Two Gallants' "Fly Low Carrion Crow," another great song to listen to when you're on the floor, sobbing into a teddy bear, clutching a gallon of rapidly melting chocolate ice cream.

Negan was unusually quiet when he got back from Alexandria.

His thoughts kept drifting back to it - _I’m sorry. That’s goddamn awful._ Rick had looked at him - really _looked_ at him, and he had seen him for who he was in that moment, without their sad and bloody shared history hovering between them. His eyes had lost that wary look they always had around him - that look that said _I remember_ \- and had become open and unguarded, as soft as clouds in the sky. Looking into them, something had went loose in his chest and plunged straight down, down through the floor.

 _Oh,_ Negan had thought, _so that’s how he looks at the people he cares about._

He knew the spell of it couldn’t last - the moment was fragile as a floating bubble, born from the grief familiar to the both of them and sent aloft by the generosity that Rick still had in him despite the battering it had taken. The battering _Negan_ had given.

 _You fucking idiot,_ he had said, and that was it - the look had vanished, chased away by carelessly cruel words.

 _Some things just never change, baby,_ Lucille whispered to him. _Even at the end of the world._

—

They had to go out farther and farther these days. The food from the serendipitous abandoned truck was drying up, and it was starting to feel strained again. The last few forays pushing the edges of the known perimeter hadn’t yielded much, so Aaron and Rick decided to pack up for a longer run beyond the borders of familiar territory. It was no guarantee of finding anything, and it could easily be dangerous, but the sight of the dwindling food in the pantry made Rick’s mind up for him.

They drove out in the early morning in a large truck - optimistically large, Rick thought, but he tried to chase those gloomy thoughts away.

“How long have you been sleeping with Negan?” Aaron asked casually after they had driven about fifteen minutes in a companionable silence.

Rick froze, turning his head to stare at the other man in wordless horror.

Aaron glanced over and gave a wry-looking smile. “What? I notice things. You know. You’re always disappearing with him. He comes by when it’s not even time for a pick-up. He’s less of a dick - I figure there’s a reason for that.”

“I’m sorry,” Rick mumbled, feeling his face burn with shame. “I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what to say.”

Aaron let out a long sigh. “Oh, man,” he murmured under his breath. “Oh, Rick.”

Rick bowed his head, fingers worrying at a fraying hole in his jeans. “You got every right to be angry.”

Aaron shot him a surprised glance. “Angry? I’m not mad at you, Rick, I’m _terrified_ for you. That guy is a walking, talking Molotov cocktail. Are you safe when you’re with him? From what I’ve seen, I don’t see how you could be, but…I guess you know him differently if you’re…” Aaron trailed off with a shrug and a helpless wave of his hand, his expression troubled.

Rick had to bite back a laugh. Safe with him? Negan was the least safe person he had ever met in his life, but he knew what Aaron was getting at. “Right now…I think I am. I’m not afraid he’s going to kill me out of the _blue_ , anyway.”

“Romantic,” Aaron croaked weakly. “I think I read a card like that once - ‘happy Valentine’s Day, honey bunch, I promise not to kill you - out of the _blue_ , anyway.’”

“No, no, I…” Rick scrubbed at his forehead. “I mean…I haven’t been afraid of anything like that for a long time. Not when we’re alone. When we’re around other people, it’s different - then we’re just the Saviors and Alexandria, and nothing’s changed there. Still feels dangerous. But it’s so different when it’s just me an’ him. We’re…I mean, he…” Rick ran a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. He was never good at putting words to feelings, and his feelings now were such a Gordian knot that he couldn’t even think of where or how to start pulling at the threads of them.

Aaron stared at him as he faltered, and his blue eyes flooded with sudden understanding. “Oh, shit,” Aaron said wonderingly, and color sprang into Rick’s face. “Well…shit. What does it mean?” he asked after a pregnant silence.

“I don’t know what it means,” Rick said unhappily. “It probably doesn’t mean anything. I don’t think I’m…important to him. Not enough that he would give up on anything he’s taking from us, anyway. I hope he’d think twice before he’d kill any of us, but I don’t even fucking know if he would, because he’s so goddamn hard to predict. Every other minute he’s doin’ something that shocks the hell out of me.”

“Like being good enough to you that you actually start to have feelings for him?” Aaron asked astutely, his warm blue eyes soft as they glanced towards where Rick sat beside him.

Rick stared at his friend and shook his head wordlessly, as if trying to shake the question away completely.

Aaron blew out a short breath. “Well,” he said brightly, “congratulations on getting laid. I hope your boyfriend doesn’t end up murdering all of us.”

Rick gave him a stricken look that Aaron met with an amused grin, reaching over to squeeze Rick’s shoulder affectionately.

“Come on, Rick. You’ve gotta smile. Dead people are tying to eat us. If we can’t laugh, we’re all going to go completely insane.”

Rick hung his head. “I’ve already gone completely insane,” he said softly, staring at his hands where they were bunched into the thick denim of his jeans.

“Hey,” Aaron said, tone changing, “look up ahead. Looks like a handwritten sign.”

It was the first in a series, and it led them on a long, strange trip to the hoarded supplies of a lone survivalist. It felt like his vengeful ghost was dogging them: they nearly sank getting across the lake to his floating homestead in a bullet riddled boat, and on the way back they were swarmed by the dead that choked the lake like grisly mermaids. Aaron was knocked straight into the water, and for a breathless eternity, Rick thought he had lost him. He nearly cried with relief when his curly head bobbed back up out of murky depths, and he hauled him back into the boat and rowed them back across the water as quickly as he could.

In the end, though, it was another lucky haul - a truck full of food and guns. Enough for another few easy weeks, and Rick’s heart was light in his chest as they loaded up the truck. He insisted Aaron take his coat, and he drove straight through the night with the man sleeping in the seat beside him, tucked under the thick jacket and shivering slightly. He needed to get him back to Eric, he thought guiltily. To Eric, and to a hot shower and a good meal.

When he saw the Saviors at the gate, his heart gave an eager throb. He was sore and cold and exhausted from driving all night, and in that single, fleeting moment, he could see Negan touching him, soothing him, chasing the lingering chill away. He had spent the ride turning it over in his mind: Aaron’s close call, the dwindling supplies, the increasingly risky runs. Something had to change. They all had to be smarter, safer about this. They had to start working together. Maybe, just maybe, Negan would be willing to hear it if he phrased it right. Now was a good time for it, when they were flush with supplies and in no danger of failing to provide as he demanded.

In that moment, it seemed _inevitable_ that he would be willing to hear it, that it would all work out fine. Then he would lay in his arms and lose himself in him without a little less guilt than before. It all seemed so certain, so _right_ , that he felt the barest brush of happiness against his heart, light and soft as gossamer.

He would come to bitterly reproach himself for that moment, and it came to an end when a single gunshot cracked in the distance just as a flock of Saviors were approaching them, eyeing the hard-won supplies piled in the back of their van greedily.

Rick ran to the town square with Aaron a half-step behind him, his heart slamming against his ribs. The scene he stumbled onto almost didn’t make any kind of sense when he saw it, because he saw it in a series of confused flashes. Spencer, lying a pool of blood and cradling an armful of his own entrails. Rosita sitting in the dusty road with blood on her face. Arat hovering over her like an angel of death, a glimmering blade in one hand and a gun in the other. Carl standing on the porch, pale and staring at something out of sight at his feet. And Negan, standing in front of all of them like a conductor, with Lucille as his baton. He was _radiating_ rage, his features twisted into the furious snarl of a beast about to snap his jaws shut on an enemy’s neck.

 _No, no, no._ Rick surged through the crowd, putting himself squarely between the man in the leather jacket and the assembly gathered in the road. Negan’s eyes fell on him, and his features smoothed out immediately. The scowl was replaced by a sickeningly jovial mask, and Rick’s stomach plunged. _No, no, no._ He looked like that when he was about to hurt someone - all hilarity unless you looked closely at the dark and dangerous spark in his eyes.

“We had a _deal_ ,” Rick cried raggedly.

Negan clicked his tongue. “Oh, Rick,” he said with false concern, “Rick, Rick. Where the hell you been, sheriff? You are sorely needed to keep law and order here, I’ll tell you. Do you wanna know the shit that’s been piling up since you’ve been out?” He held out a single finger, shaking it like a scolding parent. “First of all, shit, this asshole? Abercrombie and fuckin’ Fitch over here? Wanted to take you out and tried to get me to do it. He wanted to be the top banana. Ricky, did you know this shit was brewing under your nose? Well, I took care of him for you.”

Rick’s eyes fell to Spencer’s body again, curled almost protectively around the pile of intestines that poured from him. He looked younger in that position, like a sleeping child.

“Secondly, and can you fucking believe this one? Rosie tries to shoot me. Me!” Negan laid his hand on his chest and assumed a wide-eyed and bewildered look, as if the idea of someone wanting to kill him were the most ludicrous thing in the world. “And she fucking shoots Lucille instead.” Negan’s mouth twitched, and Rick saw it again - that spark in his eyes, that spark that could ignite everything and set it burning to the ground.

 _Lucille._ The last piece of his human heart, breached with a bullet. Rick understood suddenly that someone else had died for this, and he swung his eyes back towards the porch, following Carl’s line of sight. He recognized Olivia from the sweater she was wearing, one of her favorites. He saw it through the slatted beams of the porch, and as he did it blurred into a soft blot of color as tears veiled his eyes from the sight.

“Thirdly - and this one is the fucking kicker, sheriff. Hold on to your britches. Your kid?” Negan pointed Lucille at Carl, frozen on the porch, and even though the boy was a safe distance away, Rick’s heart lurched. “Went Rambo on my dudes, Rick. Snuck into the Sanctuary and had himself a little killing spree. What the fuck, Rick? You wanna fucking explain that at the parent-teacher conference?”

Carl lifted his eye from Olivia’s body, and Rick could see his heaving chest and flushed cheeks even from the distance. He wanted to sprint up to the porch and throw his arms around him, but Negan would follow, and he needed to keep him away from his son.

“But you know what, Rick? You know what I did? I packed him up, brought him home, and fed him a big plate of spaghetti. Hell, that reminds me - you got a plate waiting for you, too. How about that, sheriff? Ain’t I a fuckin’ peach?” His hand landed on Rick’s lower back, and Rick jerked as if he had been jabbed with a hot poker. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You look like you’re about to get the fucking vapors, and who can blame you? The shit you have to manage, Jesus Elizabeth Christ. Fucking handful and a half.” Negan pushed him forwards, towards his porch. “Clean up this fucking mess, you sorry fucks,” Negan snarled suddenly over his shoulder as they passed the crowd of Alexandrians.

Rick’s eyes were fixed on his son’s. “Go to Tara, Carl,” he said evenly as he reached the top of the porch. “It’s all right.”

Negan gave a low, mocking laugh. “Is it all right, Rick? Lot of bodies dropping today. That all right by you?”

Carl was still as a statue.

“Go to Tara,” Rick said again, more sharply. Carl did, with a final glance towards Olivia’s sprawled body.

Negan pushed him through the door.

—

Negan wasn’t upset about Carl blowing those guys away. Truth be told, he thought the boy’s stunt was fucking endearing. Rick’s kid was something _else_ : smart, dangerous, and brave. He didn’t usually envy parents these days, not with the absolute shitshow the world had collapsed into, but watching Carl stalk around the Sanctuary and shoot his one-eyed glare around like the grizzled hero of a spaghetti Western touched off something wistful in him. Something he thought was long, long gone. Something he thought he left behind with Lucille in her final resting place, that awful fucking hospital that still stank of bleach and alcohol even after it was crawling with the dead.

 _Your daddy and I are hitting it off pretty goddamn good, kid. What do think about that? Are we gonna be playing catch in the backyard any time soon? I could teach you to throw a mean fucking curve ball._ It was on the tip of his fucking tongue, and if he wasn’t so sure it would make _both_ of the Grimes men want to kill him, he might have let it slip.

Maybe he was going to let it slip, anyway; maybe he was waiting for Rick to get back so they could put some fucking cards on the table and prevent this awkward shit from happening again. He was playing it by ear, just like Carl did, and that led him to Alexandria. He strolled right into Rick's house and made spaghetti in his kitchen. He bounced his cute-as-a-button baby girl in his arms, cozy as could fucking be _,_ and the joke was on every fucker who looked at him like he was out of his goddamn mind, like he was the wolf in grandma's clothes: he had every fucking right, because he and the sheriff were just about going steady.

 _I know something you don't know!_ Goddamn, but it made him fucking _laugh_.

But no harm done. Rick was gonna be home, and then they could work this shit out. Maybe Rick would even ease up on his _no fucking in Alexandria_ rule and let him spread him out on his mattress, in his house. There was a part of him that wanted that for some urgent, elusive reason that he couldn't name, almost as badly as he wanted him on his back surrounded by silky grey sheets in the Sanctuary.

Then that little fuck Spencer had come slithering in, and it was really amazing how everything could turn to absolute shit in the blink of an eye.

The _audacity_ of that entitled little prick, sniffing up to him the minute Rick was gone, trying to take over without soiling his own hands. He took care of that shit _PFQ_ , and he enjoyed every minute of the stupidly petrified look on Spencer’s face as he had done it. _Don’t want to die bloody?_ he had thought, watching the man curl in on himself in the dirt. _Then don’t fucking act bloody, slick._

Then pretty little Rosita had tried to shoot him, and there was no fucking turning back from that. Someone was making bullets meant for Negan’s skull, and that shit was not going to fly. If those fucking idiots had just come clean right away, then he wouldn’t have had to make Arat play that shitty game of Russian roulette and unexpectedly drop the cute one with the glasses.

Then Rick finally came home.

Negan spun him around with rough hands as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. Rick tried to twist away from his grasp, but Negan held him tightly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “How about a thank you, Rick?” he breathed. He was invading his space, and he knew all things considered he should step the fuck back, but the way Rick was flinching back as if his touch - the touch he had leaned eagerly into so many times - was scalding him was _pissing him the fuck off_. “Brought your boy back, safe and sound.”

Rick stared at him, eyes saucer-wide. “I’m not gonna _thank_ you for not hurting a child,” he hissed. “That you would even think of hurting him-“ Rick choked on the words, his throat closing over them in horror. “You think I’ve forgotten? What you almost made me do to him?”

Negan gave an irritated scoff. “I thought we were fucking past that, Rick, I-“

“You want to be past it?” Rick demanded, eyes feverishly bright in his face. “Then promise me you’ll never hurt him. No matter what happens. No matter what he does, or what I do, or anyone in Alexandria does. Promise me you will never, ever hurt my son.”

Negan fell silent, caught off guard by the turn this little conversation had taken.

He had made those kinds of promises once, way back when the Saviors were first starting out. Hell, that was the fucking deal, the _original_ deal.

_Pay us in supplies, and we’ll protect you, protect your children. We’re the Saviors, and we’re here to save you from this shitty world. For a fair price._

But it hadn’t fucking worked, had it? It just hadn’t fucking worked, and there was no point in moaning over it. People were stupid, selfish, arrogant, grasping, and if you gave them an inch, they took the mile and came back to kill you for it. Being the Saviors hadn’t worked, so they had evolved. They stopped asking for a fair price, and they started demanding one. They stopped making promises, and they started making threats. It was the only way to run shit, the only way he could keep his own people safe, and to _hell_ with every other motherfucker that wasn’t his direct responsibility.

He knew that was how it had to be because he had seen it, had lived it, so why did he feel like his mouth and throat were full of fucking battery acid right now?

_Because of Rick fucking Grimes, crawling under your skin and getting in your head, idiot. Making you forget. Making you weak. And when you’re weak, people die. Remember?_

He felt it return to him, bit by bit: the _certainty_ of it all, burning as hotly and fiercely as hellfire.

“You know I can’t, Rick,” Negan said softly, after a silence, “but I’ll promise you this: I won’t hurt him - unless _you_ make me. Unless _you_ fuck up, Rick.”

The expression that crossed Rick’s face was electric in its pain, and it damn near took Negan’s breath away. That expression looked like the shock of betrayal, which was absurd, because someone had to trust you before you could betray them, and he knew Rick had never trusted him. Could never have trusted him. He couldn’t, could he? He fucking _shouldn’t_. He was left wrestling with that confused tangle of thoughts for only a moment, because the look vanished as quickly as it appeared, buried under the glacier that moved over Rick’s eyes.

“I understand,” Rick said simply.

Negan searched the blank face carefully, feeling something unpleasant and unfamiliar crawl around his chest. He couldn’t name it, but it made him feel dirty and rotted on the inside. “You hate me,” he said slowly, “but you know what? It’s for your own fucking good, Rick. You need to do what I fucking tell you, because it’s for your own fucking good. Yours and your kids. If you don’t -“

“Then you’ll kill my son,” Rick said tightly through white lips, “I got it.”

“I’m not going to,” Negan snapped, “I’m not fucking going to, because you’re not going to do anything to _get_ him killed. Right? _Right_?”

“Right,” Rick echoed hollowly.

He wasn’t looking so hot. He was looking like he did the day he was attacked in that house Negan had thought was empty: like he had become insubstantial in his own skin, in danger of fading right out of the world completely.

Negan couldn’t explain why, but his hand moved to cup the pale cheek. It was a mistake, of course, and Rick jerked back so violently that he slammed against the wall, sending a framed picture tumbling down. It shattered, sending glass tinkling across the floor.

Rick blinked hard, as if trying to wake himself up, and it forced the tears pooling in his eyes to leak out and slide down his cheeks. He looked at Negan like he was remembering he was there. “Your shit is at the gate,” he said quietly. “Take it and go.”

Negan took it and went.

—

On the next pick-up day, Rick wasn’t at the gate. Negan had made a promise about that, and he held onto it for all of thirty seconds before he went storming through Alexandria, red trembling at the edges of his vision.

He found Rick in the nearly empty pantry, crouching beside the boxes that had already been set aside for the Saviors with a notebook in his hand, and he gave a brittle-sounding laugh when his eyes fell on Negan looming in the doorway. “You go on a lot about bein’ a man of your word,” Rick said quietly, sitting back on his heels. “But you know what? I don’t think you _are_ a man of your word. I don’t think you’re a very honest person, Negan. We had a deal - we provide, and you don’t kill us. You broke that -“

“I already fucking told you that that prick Spencer-“

Rick went on, heedless of the interruption. “You said you don’t like to kill women, but I’ve got a fresh grave for a dead girl. Girl that wouldn’t hurt a fly. Judith loved her, and now she’s in the ground.”

“I’m not the one -“

“And you _promised_ me,” Rick hissed, eyes suddenly fixed full and wide on Negan’s, over-bright with pain, “that you would let me be if I didn’t come to the gate. Said you wouldn’t come lookin' for me, but here you are. I’m just wonderin’ - what other promises are you gonna break? Why are you here, Negan? You want something from me? Here to take it because you know I can’t fight back without you killing more of my people?”

Negan felt his face go slack with shock for a moment before twisting into a mask of fury. “You’re gonna wanna be very fucking careful right now, Rick. I know you’re not saying what it sounds like you’re saying, because that would be very goddamn- _fucking_ -stupid of you. You fucking know better, you fucking _prick_.”

Rick’s expression flickered, but it didn’t ease. Negan realized that Rick didn’t believe him. He really, _truly_ didn’t believe him, and he felt bile rise up the back of his throat, making a sickening, sour batter with the rage that was already sitting there and choking him.

“Mm-hm,” Rick grunted in a neutral tone after an uneasy silence. “Then why are you here?”

Negan knew there were two ways this could go. It wasn't that he couldn’t see the other way: he just _knew_ better, that’s all. He had tried, he truly had, but the world around them was too far gone. The Saviors had to give up on being saviors, and he had to give up on being the man that was trying to claw his way to the surface now. The one who wanted to kneel beside Rick in supplication, who wanted to lay the tattered remains of his heart at his feet and give himself over to whatever penance would be asked of him. Who wanted to make every solemn promise that Rick required and who would _die_ before breaking them. Who wanted that awful, suspicious fear to leave Rick’s face forever. Who wanted Rick to look at him, really _look_ at him, the way that had made him feel real and _alive_ in a way that he hadn’t for so unutterably long.

But he knew better, and that man was gone. He had bled out of him with the last of his tears; he had dried up under the heat of all that _rage_ that kept him moving, kept him grasping, kept him living. That man could not be resurrected now; he was nothing but a ghost whose plaintive voice could hardly reach him from the dark depths of his exile. That man was _dead_ , just as he should be: he laid with Lucille in that cold, white hospital bed that had become her bier.

Negan swallowed it all, all the anguish and the longing, in one bitter gulp. “I’m here because I can be, _sweetheart_. I can be wherever the fuck I want,” Negan growled. “Here, there, any-fucking-where. You confused about how this shit works all of a sudden?”

“No,” Rick said quietly. “I’m not.” He stood up, dusting his hands on his jeans. “It’s all here. Are you gonna let me by?”

Negan stepped aside, sweeping his arm out in mock-gallantry. The playful gesture didn’t matched his set, furious expression.

Rick slid by him warily, starting up the steps.

“You know what, baby?” Negan called lazily to his back.

Rick’s halted, fingers clutched tight around the bannister.

“Go ahead and sulk. Be a fucking brat about this - about shit your people brought on themselves. Act like you’re not grateful that I killed that fucking snake for you or that I brought your baby boy back in one piece after the shit he pulled. Pretend you don’t fucking get it. Pretend I can look the other way when people try to fucking _assassinate_ me, like that’s how I fucking got to be where I am. Like that’s what you would do, if someone tried to put a bullet in your goddamn motherfucking brain. Go the _fuck_ ahead. We both know it ain’t gonna last. Pretty soon you’re gonna get an itch that only my dick can scratch. Hell, maybe you’ve already got one. You _itchy_ , darlin’? You wanna walk that fine ass back down here and get _scratched_?”

There was a long, heavy silence before Rick’s steps resumed, slower and more ponderous than before. Negan whistled after him, a sliding, two-note tune that he always whistled at his prey.


	7. Into the Depths Below

Rosita watched Rick emerge from the pantry that Negan had just disappeared into with a profound sense of relief. He didn’t _look_ like he had been roughed up; at least, he wasn’t moving gingerly or limping, but you could never fucking tell with Rick. He kept everything locked up tight: every hurt, every little shard of pain. She walked over to him swiftly, giving a shrill whistle to get his attention. It seemed to startle him badly. His entire body jerked, and he looked up at her with wide, almost panicked eyes.

“Easy,” she called, frowning as she reached him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied mechanically, eyes darting to the door behind him and looking anything but fine. “How’s it goin’ out here? Everything’s ready in the pantry. They gonna come get it or what?”

Rosita gestured behind her at the gaggle of Saviors that were slowly approaching. “Negan ran out ahead of them,” she muttered. She eyed Rick closely. “I got it. Why don’t you head to the house? Sit the fuck down or something. You look jumpy as hell, Rick.”

He shot another glance at the door to the pantry, and Rosita frowned harder.

 _What the fuck did he do to you?_ she wanted to demand, but those assholes were getting closer, and she didn’t want to spread Rick’s private shit around. She gave him a little shove. “Go. Come on. Check on your kids.”

That seemed to break whatever spell he was under, and he nodded before turning and striding away. Saviors poured past her without sparing so much as a glance. One tall, skinny motherfucker with stringy hair slammed her hard with his shoulder, shooting her a leer as she stumbled. She ground her teeth together, swallowing the hot, boiling torrent of words that rose up in her throat back down hard. _I could gut you, cabron,_ she thought venomously, _I could cut you open before you could even blink because I’m fucking fast like that. The only reason you’re acting tough is because you’re hiding behind King Cabron’s leg, but half of you motherfuckers ain’t shit._

“What the fuck is taking you stupid fucking motherfuckers so fucking long?” a voice roared from the depths of the pantry, and Rosita took some satisfaction at the way that made Stringy Hair give a terrified jerk and practically race for the door.

“What’s got your balls in a twist, King Cabron?” she said softly to herself, smiling bitterly. She had a feeling she knew exactly what had his balls in a twist.

He was scowling when he finally mounted the stairs, Saviors streaming behind him with arms full of boxes. He did a double-take when he saw her, and his scowl deepened. “Well, well, well, look who has boulders for _cajones_ , showing her face after she tries to fucking _assassinate_ me. You here to try your luck again, darlin’? Better not fuckin’ miss this time. I gave you a pass before because you’re so goddamn _fine_ , but that was a one-time deal. Pull any more shit, and Lucille is gonna make you a lot less pretty.” He twirled the bat in a practiced circle, like a baton, eyes cold and hard.

“You killed my boyfriend,” she spat. “Excuse the fuck out of me for being upset about that.”

Negan gave her an incredulous look. “Are you fucking shitting me? You were with that ball-less sack of shit? You? Shit, princess, I thought you were fucking better than that.”

Rosita felt her face flame, and she grasped for something to throw back at him. She came up empty, because there was the scorpion sting of truth in his words.

Spencer wasn’t fucking worth it. That’s why she had already kicked him to the fucking curb. He didn’t fucking get it, even though it was right in front of his face. He was still grasping for the easy, sleek, prosperous world to which he felt entitled, and he didn’t fucking get that it was all ashes now. There was nothing left but hard decisions and pain and sacrifices, and he couldn’t fucking accept that. Fuck, when she heard him making his play for Negan’s favor, she thought it herself, in her own outraged mind: _I’m gonna gut that fucking prick._

Then Negan gutted that fucking prick, and it still hurt her. Still felt like a kick in the stomach, even through her fury and disdain for him. He had lain in her arms and said sweet things to her, and that still counted for something.

“He may have been a ball-less sack of shit,” she said steadily, “but he didn’t deserve to fucking die like that, holding his own fucking guts.” Anger rose in her again as the scene came back to her - Spencer sputtering, shocked, disbelieving horror in his wide eyes. “You don’t get to fucking judge me for being with him,” she snarled. “He may not have been loyal, but _I am_ , and that’s why I tried to shoot you. What are you so fucking bent about? I missed, didn’t I?”

Negan watched her wordlessly, eyes burning. His stillness was eerie - the man was movement and sound, forever pacing and gesturing and talking and laughing, and when he wasn’t, it was fucking _unsettling_. He lifted Lucille slowly and held her like a rifle, pointed straight at Rosita’s face. He mimicked the sound of a gunshot, leaning back as if in recoil.

Rosita held his eyes steadily, unblinking and hardly breathing.

A jagged gash of a smile opened up Negan’s face, and Rosita suppressed a shudder. “Move out, assholes,” Negan called to the Saviors hovering nearby after a tense moment. “I’m getting fucking frostbite from all the frigid bitches in this town. Christ, you all need a good warming up.” He grabbed his crotch and wolf-whistled at her as he turned away.

Rosita watched him go, fingers twitching around a gun she didn’t have, aching to empty a clip into the back of that swaying, sauntering form. When the crowd of them disappeared to the front of the town, she turned and headed toward Rick’s house.

She had to know for sure.

—

Rick was standing in his living room with hunched shoulders. Judith was napping peacefully in her crib, and Carl was sulking in the room that Rick had entreated him to stay in. He went to the living room to sit down, but he found that he couldn’t. He couldn’t relax at all - his muscles felt like coiled springs, ready to release and shoot him up into the sky like rocket. He heard the door open behind him, and he whirled around, heart in his throat. He was terrified that he’d see a tall man with a cruel, handsome face, leather jacket hanging open over the white teeshirt clinging to his chest.

But he didn't see that man. He saw Rosita, and then he finally did sit down, because the relief made him feel nearly boneless.

She shut the door behind her and walked inside the living room, crossing her arms and tossing her head back as she regarded him. “He finally kicked the cat, huh?” she said softly.

Rick gave her a blank look. “He what?”

She shifted on her feet, chewing her bottom lip. “Used to date this guy,” she said finally, eyes drifting down. “Steve. Fucking Steve. He was an asshole. He treated me like shit. He treated all my friends like shit. He treated _everyone_ like shit. But he was sexy, and I figured…I figured, oh, what the hell. He hit me once.” She laughed a little unsteadily, and Rick drew in a sharp, concerned breath. “He smacked me in the face. Don’t even remember what it was all about. And I didn’t fucking leave him. I screamed at him and cried and threw shit around the house, but I didn’t kick him to the curb.”

Rick sunk his teeth into his lip at the sudden, unwanted intrusion of a memory - Negan’s leather-clad hand crashing into his face. _Go ahead, Rick. Grab the axe._ He swallowed and brought himself back to Rosita’s story with an effort. “I’m sorry,” he said, brow furrowing. “Sorry that happened.”

“I’m not finished,” she said softly, and the shame he saw glimmering in her lovely, dark eyes made his stomach seize up in dread. “I…I had a cat. Concha.” She gave a little laugh. “She could be a real _concha_. You know what that means, Rick?”

“I, uh, I think so,” Rick answered, feeling his cheeks burn.

“I don’t remember what the hell led up to it. Same as him smacking me. But he kicked her. Sent her flying into a wall, and she hit the ground and started making the worst noises I ever heard. Tiny little noises. Sounded like she was crying. Can a cat even cry?” Rosita’s face reddened, and her eyes gleamed with tears. “I fucking lost it. I think I woke up the whole neighborhood screaming. I threw him out, finally, and I took her straight to the vet. He broke three of her ribs. The vet looked at me like I was a piece of shit on the sidewalk. She called the police, and they arrested me. I’ve got a rap sheet, Rick. Funny I never told you, I guess, with you bein’ a cop and all. Animal cruelty. Never got Concha back. I think the vet adopted her. Which is good. Obviously I was a shit mommy.”

“Why did they arrest you?” Rick asked, bewildered. “You didn’t hurt C- the cat. It was -“

“Steve, sure. But I…I just…clammed up when they asked me about it. I guess I let them think it was me. I guess I felt like it _was_ me. Like it was my fault. Like I was the one that was fucking responsible, because I let that asshole into my life even though I knew he was bad fucking news. I knew something like this was gonna fucking happen. I knew it was bad shit coming around that corner.” She looked up, and her eyes grew a little sad at Rick’s expression. “I’m not saying the shit Negan did last week was your fault -“

“Yeah, you are,” Rick said softly, “but it’s all right. It is.”

Rosita pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It’s not,” she said solemnly. “It’s really fucking not. It took me a long fucking time to get right with this shit, but I did. It’s not my fault that he hit me, and it’s not my fault he kicked my cat. It’s not my fault that I liked him and thought he was sexy. All he had to do was not be a piece of shit, that’s all. It’s on him that he couldn’t manage. Not on me.” She shook her head again, face twisting as she tried to control her trembling lips. “Not on you.”

Rick ran his hands over his face, feeling his shoulders slump heavily. “I’m not there yet,” he said finally, lips pressed into his palms. “I feel…responsible.”

Rosita nodded slowly. “So what cat did he kick? I know it wasn’t Spencer or Olivia, because he already did Glenn and Abe, and that didn’t keep you off his dick.”

Rick absorbed the blow. It was nothing but the truth, after all. “Carl,” he whispered after a moment, and Rosita’s eyes went huge and fiery in her face.

“What the fuck did he do to Carl?” she hissed, and Rick could have kissed her for her instinctive rage at the thought of harm coming to his son.

“No, no, nothing. But I asked him…I asked him to promise he would never hurt him. Either of my kids. Not for anything. Just to…promise me that. He wouldn’t.” His throat constricted, and he felt it all over again - the initial shock and then the breathless, bone-deep pain of it. _You belong to me,_ he had whispered to him, lying in his arms, lost in him. “I thought he - you know, I thought…I’m so- so fucking stupid,” he laughed through the tears that were suddenly soaking his face. “I’m too old to be this stupid.”

Rosita walked over to him and placed her small, strong hands on his shoulders. “You’re never too old to be stupid, Rick,” she said grimly, eyes red and shining. “You better fucking believe that.” She swallowed with an audible click and composed herself, expression smoothing out. “We’re going to the Hilltop,” she said quietly. “Tonight.” Her gaze was steady and determined, locked on his. “There’s some shit you need to know about.”

—

Rick spent the ride to Hilltop alternating between anticipation and dread. He was eager to see Maggie again, even as he wondered if he could look her full in the face after what he had been doing with the man who murdered her husband.

“You okay, Rick?” Tara was sitting across from him in the camper the four of them - Michonne, Rosita, Rick, and Tara - had taken for the trip, searching his face with soft, concerned eyes.

“I’m fine,” Rick answered a little mindlessly. He smiled a little at Tara’s doubtful look. “You know, it’s just…we ain’t havin’ easy days.”

“It’ll get better,” Tara said firmly. “It has to.”

Rick wasn’t sure about that, but he smiled as warmly as he could manage. The camper rolled to a stop, and he felt his heart start to gallop in his chest.

She was waiting for them right at the gate, Sasha hovering by her side like a bodyguard. She went straight to Rick, holding out her arms, and he swept her up, pulling her slim body into his arms.

“Missed you, Rick,” she said, her voice muffled in his shoulder.

“Missed you, too, Maggie,” he whispered, eyes stinging. _Oh, please forgive me,_ he begged silently. _Oh, please, please forgive me for walking us right into his trap. Please forgive me for walking into it again on my own._ He thought on the ride up that he might confess it, but holding her, he realized that he didn’t have the strength to withstand this woman hating him. Not when he loved her so much. Not today; maybe not ever. _Forgive me,_ he thought again, and then he pulled back to smile at her. “Guess your appetite’s up these days. Lori just about ate the furniture the first few months with Carl. You gettin’ enough to eat?”

“Oh, she’s getting enough to eat,” Sasha said drily behind them. “Don’t worry. I’m the one getting up three times a night to find peanut butter crackers. I think she’s gonna eat every last peanut butter cracker left on earth before this kid is born.”

“I will if you bring ‘em to me,” Maggie laughed, and the girls exchanged a warm, intimate look.

“We should head inside,” Tara said, appearing at Rick’s elbow. “We’ve, uh…we’ve got an audience.”

They all followed her gaze up and saw Gregory, leaning on his balcony and frowning down at them.

Rick frowned right back. “He givin’ you a hard time?” he asked.

Maggie’s lip curled. “Yeah, he is. But I’m not gonna worry about a fly buzzin’ around my head. Come on.” She led them to the trailer she shared with Sasha.

Jesus was waiting, leaning against the door with an easy smile on his face. He lifted his hand in a greeting as they approached. “Did you tell them?” he called.

“Not yet,” Tara answered, skipping up the path to give him a hug.

Rick watched her in confusion. “Huh? Tell us what?”

Tara turned to face him. “We have a surprise,” she said, soft and a little tremulous. “Jesus told me over the walkie today. Don’t worry, we have a super special secret code, so even if someone intercepted the message they wouldn’t know what we meant.”

Rick glanced at Michonne and Rosita, and they both looked as mystified as he felt. He looked back at Tara, shifting on his feet apprehensively and bracing his hands on his hips. “I don’t know if I like surprises these days, Tara.”

“Oh,” Tara said, sounding a little crestfallen. “Uh…too late, dude.” She pointed behind them a little sheepishly, and they all turned in unison.

Daryl was standing a few feet away, crossbow on his back. His eyes met Rick’s, and his face pinched up a little, like a child about to bawl. He took a hesitant step forward, and then almost dashed into Rick’s arms, clinging to him.

“Daryl,” Rick said wonderingly. He wrapped his arms around his friend tightly, patting gently at the trembling shoulder. “Daryl, you’re here. How?”

“Busted out,” was all the laconic man offered, and there was a long, awestruck silence.

“Surprise!” Tara squealed delightedly behind them, and they all dissolved together: some into tears, some into laughter.

—

Maggie and Sasha’s dining table was entirely taken over by a large map of the surrounding area, covered in meticulous notes and diagrams. They were all seated around it, like members of a war council. As Maggie began to outline her plan, Rick realized that’s exactly what they were.

“Alexandria. The Hilltop. The Kingdom. Oceanside. Four communities, united against the Sanctuary. Together, we outnumber them. More importantly, we got the element of surprise on our side. The Sanctuary doesn’t expect us to form an alliance - they got no idea what’s brewing right under their noses. And they don’t even know that Oceanside exists. They don’t know what happened to the community they near wiped out - they just know that they left their old settlement. But they didn’t go all that far: they just hid.” She nodded to Tara. “But we found where they’re hiding, and they got guns, and they got people, and they got a grudge against the Saviors that doesn’t touch what any of the other communities got, because what Negan did to me he did to every last one of them.” Maggie bit her lip, clearly trying to fight back her grief.

“They killed all the boys,” Tara said quietly, “except for the littlest ones. The ones too young to fight.”

“Negan doesn’t like to kill women,” Jesus muttered, “but he’s got no problem killing their sons, brothers, and husbands.”

Rick rubbed his mouth, feeling faintly sick. “Will they fight with us?”

“They will,” Maggie replied, “thanks to Tara.”

Rosita squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “Way to go, mama.”

Tara flushed pink under the praise, looking up at Rosita through her lashes, eyes shiny and adoring. Rosita didn’t catch it; she was still studying the map.

“Shit, with that group - Oceanfront, you said? Oceanside - we got these _pendejos_ surrounded. Look.” She ran a finger in a wide circle, tracing from community to community, circling the Sanctuary like a noose.

Rick stood next to her and leaned over the map, taking it in. The notes were painstaking: estimates of weapons and supplies, weaknesses, strengths, all the information you could need to devise a campaign. He looked up after a few minutes, eyes wide. “We could win,” he said slowly, awed.

Maggie met his gaze with a serene smile. “We’re _gonna_ win,” she corrected firmly.

—

Rick spent the rest of the evening poring over the map, his mind whirling with plans and calculations. He was reluctantly drawn away for dinner, but he ate without tasting anything he put in his mouth or hearing much of what was said around him.

They could win. It was all there on the map, a fresh chessboard, all the pieces ready and waiting to be arranged into a perfectly coordinated attack. He believed it, for the first time since Negan put him on his knees: that there was a future in front of them all that wasn’t cast in the darkness of the man’s looming, sinister shadow.

The moment Rick finished eating, he stood up to go straight back to examining the map, but he was arrested by a hand on his wrist.

“Hold on,” Rosita muttered. “We need to go somewhere private to talk, Rick.”

He looked down at her in surprise. “Huh?”

She rose, hand still on him. “Come on,” she said, “let’s take a quick walk.”

Rick let her lead him, confused, out into the cool night air. He heard almost silent footsteps behind him, and he saw that Michonne and Daryl were following. They walked out to a quiet, lonely spot by the far side of the wall, and Rick turned to face them, beginning to feel the first stirrings of apprehension. “What is it?”

“It’s about you and Negan,” Rosita said.

Rick jerked in surprise and looked over at Daryl, feeling his eyes go wide.

“He knows,” Rosita sighed, waving her hand.

“He told me,” Daryl grunted at the same time, eyes on his boots.

“ _He_ told you?” Rick said, mouth suddenly dry. “What’d he say?”

“Told me he was with you,” Daryl muttered, shuffling his feet.

Rick realized he was giving him a fully bowdlerized version of Negan’s words. He felt gratitude and shame at the same time, and his stomach turned over queasily. “Why-“

“That shit’s not important,” Rosita interrupted impatiently. “We’re the ones that know - the three of us.”

“Aaron knows,” Rick said dully. The man had stayed behind to guard Alexandria - and Carl and Judith.

“Fine, whatever, but we need to fucking talk about it. I know dudes like Negan, Rick. I know you told him it’s over or whatever, but he’s not gonna leave it at that. He’s gonna start showing up, trying to get to you. We don’t need the eyes on us right now. We’re almost, _almost_ ready to hit them. But not yet.”

Rick stared at her, brow wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t get it,” he said slowly, “what-“

Rosita looked at him, and the fierceness in her dark eyes faded for a moment, the sadness bleeding through. “You need pretend to kiss and make up, Rick. Pretend that everything’s fine. Not completely fine, I guess he’s not fucking stupid, but you’ve gotta go back to him. Just for a little bit.”

Rick stared at her, feeling his lips part on a shocked reply that never came.

“You know that you do.” Rosita crossed her arms, an uneasy frown on her lovely face.

He looked over at Michonne and Daryl, who were watching him silently. Their eyes held the same sadness that Rosita’s did; sadness that was dangerously, humiliatingly close to pity. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah. You’re right. We don’t need the eyes on us.”

Rosita nodded and slapped his shoulder. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead she bit into her lip and turned away, walking back in the direction of the glowing lights of the Hilltop.

Michonne nodded at Daryl. “You boys probably want to catch up a little,” she said. “See you later.” She slipped away, and they were alone.

They were silent for a long time in the soft darkness, the only sound their even breathing.

“You okay?” Daryl ventured.

Rick gave a faint, sad laugh. “Should be askin’ you that. How’d you do it, Daryl?”

The man shrugged, scratching his cheek. “I didn’t. Someone slipped me a key. Dunno who.”

Rick crossed his arms, taking that in. “We got someone on the inside?”

“Hell, yeah. Wish I knew who, though.” Daryl blew out a long breath. “I needed to leave when I did,” he said quietly, with the air of a man making a confession, “'cause I was…I was scared.” He swallowed and squinted up at Rick. “Scared I'd start believin’ in what he was tellin’ me. He told me I needed to do what he told me to do, because it would keep you safe. An' he made it sound _real_ ,” Daryl said almost plaintively, face drawn and tight with shame. “I got so goddamned confused.”

“He gets in your head,” Rick agreed softly. “It’s all right. It’s what he does.”

“That what happened with you?” Daryl asked curiously, without a hint of reproach or judgment.

Rick looked down, feeling his throat tighten. “I don't know what happened with me. That’s the…that’s the gospel truth, Daryl. I just don’t know. I never shoulda…never-“ he broke off, hanging his head even lower and closing his eyes. “He never forced me,” he whispered into the darkness. “I gotta say that much for him.”

Daryl grunted. “Know that.”

Rick opened his eyes and lifted his head a little. “Huh?”

Daryl sniffed, looking down and letting his curtain of hair hang in his face. “Got it wrong the first time he said anything about it. Thought he was sayin’ he…y’know. An' he got… _real_ angry.”

Rick remembered the day it all started, when Negan took him out the woods alone. He remembered the man’s fury when he realized that Rick thought he was going to rape him, and he tilted his head at Daryl, concerned. “He hurt you?” he asked, and as soon as the words left his mouth he realized how goddamn _absurd_ they were.

“Yeah,” Daryl said simply. “An’ I still didn’t even believe ‘im a hundred percent until one of his goons jumped me. Fucker tried to rape me. Negan went fuckin’ nuts on ‘im. Splattered his bra-” Daryl caught himself, snapping his mouth shut and looking a little green. They both knew how Negan carried out an execution.

“Jesus,” Rick said through numb lips. “Someone tried to rape you at the Sanctuary?”

Daryl shrugged. “Tried. Didn’t do it, though. Now he’s dead. Figured then that Negan wasn’t lyin’ when he said he hated that shit.”

Rick hung his head again, passing a hand over his forehead. He felt it, yet again: gratitude to the man that he never wanted to be grateful towards. Gratitude he shouldn’t feel, because all Negan had done was not be the worst he could be.

It was as if Daryl read his mind. “He kept telling me he weren’t the worst there was in the world,” he said quietly. “He’s right. He ain’t the worst. But he ain’t good, either. If he was good, he wouldna done Glenn and Abe like that.” Daryl’s voice wavered, and his eyes filled with tears. “He wouldn’t do the shit he does to people.”

“He says he does what he has to,” Rick whispered. “I told myself the same thing, when I did shit that I hated. You think we-“

Daryl was shaking his head so hard that his hair flew around his face. “No,” he said sharply. “You ain’t him. No way. You ain’t never been like him. You’re _good_.” Daryl’s face crumpled on that, and Rick reached for him. He stumbled back from his hand, wiping furiously at his eyes before muttering something under his breath and practically fleeing into the night.

Rick watched him go, feeling his heart squeeze in his chest. _Am I?_ he asked silently after him. _Am I good?_ He was suddenly weary. Too weary to go back to the map, but he knew he would never be able to sleep, either. He turned with a sigh and headed for the wall. He climbed up into a watchtower, grabbing the rifle that leaned against the wooden posts and settling in.

It wasn’t long before he heard feather light steps on the ladder and smiled, glancing over.

“Got you something,” Michonne said as he reached the top, stepping into the small platform of the watchtower. “Got _us_ something. It’s not all for you.” She held up a bottle of wine with an elegant-looking label - all looping script and faded ink.

Rick chuckled. “You stole that from Gregory, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did, Rick,” she said, shooting him a sly and unrepentant look from the corners of her eyes as she knelt on the dusty floor beside him. She set two plastic cups on the dusty wooden floor. “Now, I’m pouring out less for you, because I guess you volunteered yourself for some guard duty. You need to stay sharp. I’m gonna drink the rest _for_ you-”

Rick laughed outright at that, and Michonne did, too, giggling as she poured out the wine and flashing her radiant smile.

“I’m trying to be a good friend, Rick!” She poured him out a generous amount despite the teasing. As she handed him the cup, he could see that her eyes were somber even though a smile still sat on her lips, and he felt a lump rise to his throat.

“Cheers,” she said quietly, gently tapping his cup with hers.

They drank in silence for a while. The wine was earthy and rich, and Rick couldn’t remember the last time he had drunk anything as decadent. He glanced down at his cup, rolling the liquid slowly. It looked like blood in the darkness, thick and dark, and he looked away hastily.

Michonne’s hand settled on his shoulder. “You’re afraid,” she murmured. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Rick said, a little relieved to speak it out loud. “I’m afraid.”

Michonne was quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to do this, Rick,” she said, voice as soft as her touch on his shoulder. “With him. You don’t have to let him hurt you. I don’t want you to,” she added, voice trembling sadly on the end of that.

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Rick said hollowly. “I’m afraid of him, but not in the way you’re thinking. I’m afraid of the way he can make me forget. Get me all turned around and confused in my own head. The day he came home with Carl, the day he killed Spencer and Olivia, you know what I felt when I saw that there were Saviors there? I was _happy_ , Michonne. I wanted to see him. Me an’ Aaron almost drowned in a lake full of the dead to bring back supplies for his people to steal from us, and I’m _happy_ to see the man responsible. That’s what he can do. He’s the goddamn devil - he _knows_ how trick you, how to drag you in. He got me…he got me thinkin’ that…” Rick’s vision blurred, and suddenly he could feel it like it was happening all over again: Negan warm behind him, rocking into him, lips all over his flushed skin.

 _You belong to me,_ he had whispered to him, and Negan had turned around and killed a few more of his with a laugh and a smile. Had looked straight into his face, his eyes, and told him his son wasn’t safe from Lucille’s endless thirst. Had _spat_ on the fragile trust that had been growing between them. He thought he had known misery before, back when this all started, but he was finding out every day he spent in Negan’s thrall that there could always be worse.

Michonne’s hand rubbed small, soothing circles into the back of his shoulder. “Don’t you dare feel ashamed of yourself for having a generous heart, Rick. You try to see the best in people. You give them a chance. You take them in. That’s what you do. That’s what you did for me.” She smiled at him gently, eyes glimmering with unshed tears in the faint glow of the night around them: the moon and stars and flickering lamps. “You wanted him to be something more than what he was that night. You gave him the chance to be, and it’s not your fault that he failed. It’s his.”

Rick felt the warm track of a tear down his cheek and swallowed hard, trying to will its fellows away. “You an’ Rosita collaboratin’ on pep talks?” he joked weakly. He had to joke. Michonne’s words were settling into his heart, swelling it until it ached in his chest, and he was afraid if he let himself cry now he wouldn’t be able to stop. And it was no time to cry. It was time to get up and go to war. “She told me about Concha.”

Michonne almost spat a mouthful of wine out as laughter bubbled up out of her. “ _What_ did she say about her concha?” She slapped at her thigh in her mirth as she took in Rick’s suddenly scarlet face, laughter floating into the night air like music.

—

Negan went back to Alexandria for the next pick-up. As sure as he was that Rick wouldn’t be there waiting for him, he couldn’t fucking stay away. It all pissed him off almost as much as it depressed him - Rick slamming his legs shut and him pathetically creeping back to Alexandria on the off chance that he decided to open them up again - but he wasn’t one to deny himself his whims. Besides, he had some questions to ask about a lost doggy.

The gate rolled back, and Negan felt his breath leave him in a sharp _whoosh_ , as if he had been punched in the gut.

Rick fucking Grimes was standing there, arms crossed, head tilted, watching him with those jewel-bright eyes. He looked calm as could fucking be, as if he hadn’t told Negan to lose his number, metaphorically speaking, the last time he was here.

 _Sonofabitch,_ he thought, feeling immediate heat pool between his hips despite his irritation with the man. “Rick,” he called out loud. “Just the man I wanted to see. You got animal control in this pretty little town? You catch strays? I’m looking for a shaggy one. Real bad dog. Smells as bad as his fuckin’ attitude. Know what I’m gettin’ at?”

Rick’s face was impassive, but his head fell closer to his shoulder in a wordless query.

Negan licked his lips as he stalked forward, getting so close the toe of his boot knocked against Rick’s, looming over him threateningly. _Just like old times,_ he thought gloomily. He couldn’t enjoy this shit anymore, and that was just another thing that galled him. “Where’s Daryl, sheriff?” he asked coldly.

Rick’s brow furrowed. “What? Ain’t he with you?”

Negan was silent, staring hard into those luminous eyes. They were always so brilliant in the sunlight. Lamplight turned them a softer, more muted blue, and moonlight turned them to navy velvet. Negan came back to himself with an effort. “Hope you’re not lyin’ to me, baby,” he whispered, the words barely more than breath. “‘Cause it’d break my fucking heart, what I’d have to do if you were.”

Rick flinched at that, and suddenly Negan couldn’t hold his gaze any longer.

“Well, let’s go out looking for the lost puppy, then! Put up some flyers around the neighborhood! You an’ me, Rick. Safety first, though.” He jutted his chin towards two Saviors hovering nearby. “Search him for weapons,” he growled.

He knew perfectly well that Rick wasn’t stupid enough to kill him with his soldiers in Alexandria, armed to teeth and ready to unleash hell. It was just about the humiliation of it, a petty revenge that _immediately_ backfired. He watched with rising anger as his men put their hands all over Rick’s body, setting every possessive instinct in him snarling. He fought the urge to stride forward and throw them both off, and instead he stood there silently fuming.

Then Connor’s hands lingered a little longer than was necessary high up on one muscular thigh, Rick tensed and tried to shift away, and Negan saw bleeding red.

“I said check him for fucking weapons, fuckhead, not check if his dick’s in the right spot!” he snarled. “You _know_ how I feel about that shit! Didn’t I just splatter Dave across the goddamn Sanctuary for this disgusting fucking rapey bullshit? You want me to shove that hand into the fucking furnace?”

Connor leapt back, looking almost comically confused. “I was…y-you said…I-“

“Shut your fucking face,” Negan snapped, striding forward to grip Rick’s arm and usher him roughly away. He didn’t miss the way Rick cringed almost imperceptibly away from him, rejecting the touch the same way he did with that fucking handsy prick Connor. It stung, and then it made him furious. He gave him a rough shove towards the RV, and Rick stumbled, catching himself against the side. He righted himself and straightened his shoulders, mounting the steps with a calm dignity.

Negan didn’t drive them out very far. He didn’t have the patience, and the second the little patience that he did have ran out he swerved abruptly to the side of the road and shut the engine off. “What’s going on with you, Rick?” he asked quietly, subdued. “Kinda felt like you were breaking this shit off last week. This week, here you fucking are, front and center for me. What’re you doing?” Negan watched the muscles in Rick’s throat work as he swallowed thickly before he spoke.

“I’m not gonna fight anymore, Negan. This is the way things are now, and I just…” Rick shrugged, trailing off. “Don’t wanna fight,” he finished quietly.

Negan was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was in a faint, almost hurt tone that he hadn’t heard himself use in a long, long time. “Do you _want_ to be out here with me, Rick?”

Rick’s lips moved, but no words came out. He looked like an animal in a trap, exposed and defenseless, and Negan knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that whatever he said right now would be the truth. “I don’t know.”

Negan licked his lips and leaned his head back against the seat. “Get in the back,” he muttered. “And take those ratty-ass jeans off.”

Rick barely moved in his arms. It was deja-fucking-vu all over again, and Negan used every trick he knew to bring him back to some semblance of life. He pressed his fingers into the spot inside him he could find unerringly, he drew rosy nipples into his mouth just the way he liked, he laid wet kisses into the spot on his neck that made his entire body tremble. He tried everything to get him to wrap those powerful arms around him, flush red under his touch, and moan a sweet symphony for him the way he did, the way he _had_ been doing. But Rick stayed pale and quiet beneath him, giving him nothing more than a faint whimper in his throat from time to time.

 _I don’t want you this way,_ he wanted to scream. He didn’t, he didn’t, he fucking _didn’t_. How _could_ he want him this way, a wan, hollowed-out creature who seemed all but already dead to this world? Dead to him?

He wanted him cowed and manageable, not broken. Never broken. He wanted him to see things his way, that’s all. Was that so much to fucking ask? That Rick try and see things his way? The fact that he wouldn’t felt like a personal affront, and in response, his darkest impulses stirred in his depths like a fairy-tale monster awakening from its slumber.

_How dare he?_

He found himself wondering what the other man would do if he slapped him, maybe choked him a little.

_How fucking dare he?_

Could he get him to cry again? At least he was _alive_ when he cried.

 _Here it is, baby,_ Lucille cooed. _Here’s Negan. Story time’s over._

He found himself rearing back in near-panic, pulling out of him. Rick’s eyes drifted open and focused slowly. They stared wordlessly at each other. “Get dressed,” Negan muttered finally, turning away.

“No,” Rick replied hoarsely, and it stopped him in his tracks. “Get dressed? You fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Why do you think I’m out here? Finish this.”

Negan wheeled around, incredulous. Rick had propped himself up on his elbows. He was still half-wearing his faded blue and unbuttoned shirt. It had slid a little down his shoulders, hanging there almost coyly. His knees were bent and parted, and Negan cursed himself for the way he couldn’t stop devouring him with his eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to fucking finish it, Rick, that cross your mind?” he growled. “Maybe I’m finally sick of your weepy bullshit. Lotta tight ass left in the world. Maybe I’m done with yours.”

Rick gave a shrill, unsettling laugh, utterly devoid of any mirth. “Maybe.” He looked pointedly at Negan’s cock, still hard and glistening with lube. “Doesn’t look like it, though.”

Negan stalked back to him slowly, feeling faintly sick with the mixture of rage and shame. “You are lucky, sheriff, that I’m such a nice fucking guy.” He crawled back over him slowly, roughly hiking his legs up. “Christ, I don’t let anyone else fucking talk to me like that.”

Rick’s eyes were closed, and Negan watched his forehead crease as he slid back inside him. “Lucky me,” he said, so faintly Negan hardly caught the words. It was brusque and utilitarian. Negan made sure Rick came first, then hurried himself to his own finish. He couldn’t enjoy it, which was pretty goddamned funny, all things considered - Negan would never have believed that anything could ruin sex for him.

Then along came Rick Grimes.

He got dressed without looking at him and climbed back into the front seat, starting up the RV with a vicious twist of its keys. After ten or fifteen minutes, Rick came slowly up to sit beside him in the passenger seat.

“What do you want me to do about Connor’s hand? Cut it off? Burn it off? Let Lucille tap dance on it? What?”

Rick turned his head to him, his eyes full of weary confusion. “Huh?”

“Connor,” Negan ground out. “I’m not stupid. I saw him cop a free feel. Saviors-“

Rick cut him off with a laugh. “Sure, I know. Saviors don’t do that shit.” Negan felt anger simmer in him at the skeptical, mocking note in Rick’s voice. “Let him go. I don’t care about that. But I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.” Rick shot him a sideways glance. “But I’m guessin’ you already had a feelin’ he was bad news. Like you said, you’re not stupid.”

“Saint Rick,” Negan muttered. “Saint Rick of Alexandria. Forgiving those who have sinned against him, amen, halle-fucking-lujah. How does lying fit in with all the saintliness, baby? I know you’re fucking lying about Daryl.”

Rick shook his head. “I’m not,” he said, eyes falling to his lap. “I’m worried about him. I guess he got out of the Sanctuary, but what about after that? Did he get any weapons on the way out, or is he out there with nothin’?”

“If he gets his stupid fucking face eaten off, it’s his own damn fault,” Negan snapped irritably.

Rick looked away, pressing his lips together.

They drove in silence until the gates of Alexandria loomed before them again. The Saviors were long gone, and the sun was setting, casting blinding golden rays over the town’s walls. Negan nosed the RV around, rolling to a stop.

Rick licked his dry lips and glanced at him. “Comin’ back next week?”

Negan scratched his jaw. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Rick gave a short nod and slid out of the RV. He looked tired and battle-worn as he walked back through the gate with hunched shoulders and slow, weary steps.

_You’re killing him, baby, but you can’t help yourself, can you? Killing people is all you’re good at these days._

“Shut the fuck up, Lucille,” he hissed aloud. She glinted at him in the light of the setting sun, as if she were giving him a knowing little wink in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the thing: this story was originally going to end with a major time jump, and all of the events in between were going to get kind of hand-waved in a few paragraphs. Then the final chapter started getting longer and longer and longer, and then I realized that I was writing into the hand-wave-y part, and then I realized I was really enjoying writing into the hand-wave-y part and teasing out that part of the story. That means there's a good bit more to go, but there is a big shift coming in the story. The next chapter is a natural end to this earlier part of the story, so I'm going to end things there and then start up the rest of the story as a sequel. That's the plan, fam! I also have about 5k words of Daryl at the Sanctuary that has never fit anywhere in this story, so I'm eventually going to post it as a standalone. It'll contain the backstory to his dialogue in this chapter. As always, I'm sorry it's such slow going, but I don't have as much time for hobbies with my life in the current configuration that it's in. It will be done eventually, though, pinkie promise!


	8. The Blood I'm Owed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this very unhappy chapter and wring my neck, I want to remind everyone that this isn't the end of the story and that there will be a sequel. Please do not reach through the screen to choke me. I have a scrawny little neck.

The next week, the gates of Alexandria rolled back, and Rick was there.

They gazed silently at each other for a while before Rick ducked his head and walked wordlessly past him to climb into the passenger side of the RV.

He drove them very, very far out - to the edges of his territory. He felt Rick’s eyes on him once or twice, silently questioning. He was glad he didn’t ask, though - he wasn’t going to tell him the truth. How could he tell him that he just wanted to stretch out the hours they still had? That he craved him so fucking badly that even the sound of his quiet breathing beside him was a delight? That in those quiet moments, he could pretend that everything hadn’t gone to absolute shit between them?

He slowed to a halt when he realized that the sun was setting. He glanced over at Rick, who was slumped and staring out the window with dull, grim eyes. He sank his teeth into his lip in irritation and dismay, clambering into the back of the truck. “Rick,” he said sharply, and the man rose and shambled behind him like a sleepwalker. Negan closed his eyes and undid his belt, unzipping his fly and pulling himself free. He was hard. He smiled coldly to himself. _Ol’ faithful_ , he thought, stroking himself slowly. His eyes flew open as he heard a rustle in front of him, and he took in the unexpected sight of Rick on his knees. His lips parted in shock as Rick braced one hand against his thigh and wrapped the other around his length, displacing his own hand. His lids lowered over those beautiful eyes as he opened his mouth and took him in, smooth and deep and warm. Negan hissed and gripped the seat behind him. Rick dipped his head and slid the soft heat of his tongue down his cock until his lips met his own hand wrapped around the base.

Rick had never done this for him. Not on his knees. Not ever, ever, ever. Negan tried to speak, but he couldn’t, because his breath was being chased in and out of his chest too swiftly to be caught long enough to shape words. He buried his hands in the man’s hair and carded through the wild curls as gently as he could. “Rick,” he finally managed, and it was all the only word he could. “Rick, Rick, Rick.”

Rick looked up at him, and Negan saw with an uneasy jolt that his blue eyes were soft and sad. He licked a warm, wet stripe along the underside of the cock in his mouth.

Negan whimpered, the sound small and pained. He sounded like Rick was killing him, and he fucking was. He tugged on his hair in warning as he felt himself draw close to his peak, and Rick responded by swallowing him down as far as he could. Negan gave a wordless cry that was almost a sob, head falling back as he spilled into Rick’s waiting mouth.

—

Rick sat back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He leaned tiredly against Negan’s legs, wondering what had possessed him to do that and fearing the pleased flutter that Negan’s pained, almost pleading chant had set off in his chest. _Rick, Rick, Rick._

“Ooh, Rick,” Negan said breathlessly above him, sliding his hand through his hair, “that was something else, baby. You have a fucking talent for this. You know what? The first time you knelt in front of me, with all your little friends, I thought - “

Rick was across the camper before he was aware of moving. He scrabbled at the door, desperate. He had been assaulted by images so swiftly that it felt like he was actually drowning in them - the sickening crack-thud of a bat hitting yielding skull, Maggie’s broken, breathless sobs, the wet splatter of blood on dry grass. The next thing he was conscious of was being on his hands and knees in the cold air, painful dry heaves feeling like they were trying to split his body in two. He heard Negan’s heavy boots descend the steps behind him, and a fresh wave of nausea seized him. He bent his head toward the ground and spat out a mouthful of the saliva that had rushed into his mouth. He realized that his cheeks were wet and that he was crying.

Negan walked straight past him, and a rattling groan reached his ears from somewhere ahead.

Walkers.

Rick felt actual wonder. He had run out blindly into the open. People died for less foolish blunders these days. After all that he had survived, it was almost funny. He glanced towards Negan. Lucille flashed fire in the bloody rays of dying sunlight, and Negan swung her easily at the creature shambling up to them. Thick, rotted flesh along with that syrupy-thick walker blood rained to the ground. Rick closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. There were more of them, and Negan dispatched them almost lazily. Each dull crunch made Rick’s shoulders twitch, and he fought to get himself under control. Finally, there was silence. Neither of them moved. A biting wind picked up and seemed to blow straight through Rick’s clothes, and he shivered hard. He heard Negan’s boots crunch over the rocks and grass as he approached. Rick didn’t bother wiping at his face. Negan would know he had wept. He always knew.

“You done?” he asked, gesturing at him with a now-gory Lucille.

Rick fought the urge to flinch away. “Yeah,” he croaked out.

Negan reached down and pulled him to his feet by the arm, pushing him back towards the camper.

He climbed back in slowly. He heard Negan shut the door behind him, and he dimly wondered what was next. Rage? Mocking? Maybe it would be Lucille, finally, laying a sweet, silver kiss on the back of his head. Maybe Negan had finally finished taking what he wanted from Rick - he certainly felt like the other man had bled him dry. Nothing left in him felt warm or vital just then. He had felt like that right after Abraham and Glenn, but it turned out he had so much further to fall, so much more of himself to lose.

But Lucille didn’t give him a kiss, and Negan didn’t say a single world. He walked past him and climbed into the driver’s seat, starting up the engine. Rick was almost thrown off his feet when the camper started moving. He made his way slowly to the front and into his seat. Neither of them spoke the entire way back. The sun sank further and further into its bed of fleecey orange and pink clouds as they drove, and Rick watched it until it finally slipped below the edge of the horizon, leaving the world in darkness once again.

They were still a good three or so miles away from Alexandria when Negan killed the engine suddenly, and Rick felt his heartbeat quicken in dread. They sat there in the dark for an agonizing few minutes as Rick braced himself for whatever was coming.

“I’m sorry.”

Rick’s head snapped towards Negan, eyes huge and shocked in his face.

Negan gave a rueful chuckle as he took in Rick’s expression. “What? I am. I’m sorry about what I said. It was a fucked up thing to say at that _particular_ moment, and obviously it was detrimental to the cause of getting my dick sucked. I hope you’ll consider sucking it again sooner rather than later, because as I _meant_ to say, you did a really fucking good job. So, yeah, I’m sorry about fucking bringing up your dead friends while you were swallowing my cock. But the thing is, Rick…” Negan had his head thrown back against the head rest, and now he turned it slowly towards Rick. His gaze was penetrating even in the darkness, and only the faintest ghost of a smirk remained on his face. “I’m never gonna be sorry about wasting those guys. I’ve explained why I did it a hundred times. I really fucking hope that you understand that, because I don’t think you do. Do you?”

“You _are_ gonna be sorry,” Rick snarled without thinking, and the last remains of mirth flew from Negan’s face. “I can walk from here.” He reached for the handle, but Negan’s hand fisted in his hair and dragged him away from it.

“No, Rick, I’m going to drive you to your door like the goddamned motherfucking gentleman I am,” he seethed. “But before I do, you’re going to wipe that fucking look off your face.”

Rick glared up at him, eyes murderous, and Negan gave him a hard shake where he had him by the hair.

“Rick, you don’t wanna fuckin’ go there.” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, and he leaned in close. “I could take so much more from you, Rick. You _know_ that. You _know_ I could. You need to think about that, baby, just like you did the first time we had this little conversation. Think about what could still happen, Rick.”

And just like that, he was back in the deep, dark woods.

Carl was there, pale and too solemn for his scant years, his arm stretched out and pinned flat to the dirty ground. It would be Carl whose blood would be let to sate the hungry wolf. Fear, rage, and sorrow burned and burned and _burned_ through him now as it did then, but worse than all those things was the sickening helplessness.

 _You can’t keep me locked up in the house whenever they come by, Dad. Not forever,_ Carl had said, and wasn’t that the fucking truth? He couldn’t keep him away, couldn’t keep him in the house, couldn’t keep him safe: he was right in the cross-hairs. Rick could be sure of that. Negan had told him so that first night in the woods and then again in his own goddamned house. His eyes stung and flooded, and the panicked breath he drew in was wet and shuddering.

Negan brought Rick’s head to his shoulder, relaxing his grip on his hair. “Don’t you fucking know better by now, Rick?” he demanded roughly. He rubbed Rick’s scalp soothingly with his fingers, rubbing out the sting of pulled hair.

The obscenity of him being tender in this moment unraveled something in Rick’s mind precipitously, and he felt dangerously close to screaming. He tried to will himself to be absolutely still, but he had started to shake and couldn’t _stop_. He was cold and disoriented and afraid. “Please,” he whispered from the depths of the dark night he was still lost in. “Please, don’t.”

Negan bent and kissed his forehead, and Rick shuddered hard beneath his lips. Negan stiffened and drew back slowly. He rubbed his fingers against his scalp again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Rick,” he said, sounding almost sullen. Rick thought it may have been one of the most outrageous things he ever said to him. “I’m not the kind of guy that roughs up the people he’s fucking,” he went on, “so stop fucking making me do it.”

He couldn’t help it. A harsh laugh bubbled up from his throat. “How do I stop makin’ you do it, Negan? I’ve given you everything you’ve ever asked for. _Everything_ ,” he ground out, and the shame made ill. “But it ain’t enough for you. What the hell do you want, exactly?“

“I want you on your knees, Rick. I want you to stay there. And I want you to stop trying to get up, because every time you do, I’ve gotta hurt you.” Negan sounded tired, almost subdued.

Rick was silent for a breathless moment before he erupted into helpless laughter.

“What so fucking funny?” Negan snapped beside him.

“I’ve heard all that old shit a hundred thousand times,” Rick said between gasps, “on the goddamn job. Do you know how many shitty fucking DV calls I’ve done? Found some poor woman or man with a black eye and a split lip, some piece of shit nearby with a bloody fist goin’, ‘but officer, they made me do it.’” Rick let out another shaking laugh, the hilarity a half-step away from hysteria. “And it was always, always about them tryin’ to stand up. Can’t have that. That’s you, ain’t it? I make you do it. Yeah, I guess I just make you do it. Can’t have me standin’ up.”

Rick glanced at the other man out of the corners of his eyes, and he realized with some surprise that the blow had fully landed.

Negan was glaring at him, but his rage had an undercurrent of uncertainty that he had never seen in him before. “How fucking dare you say that shit to me?” he said, almost wonderingly. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think it’s my fault that shit is the shitty way it is? What, it’s my fucking fault the dead crawled up out of their graves? My fault the world went to fucking shit in a shit-basket? My fault we have to fucking live this way, barely better than fucking animals, at fucking war with every other poor fucker left alive, just to barely keep shit running? I guess it’s also my fault that you wiped out my outpost - that’s my fucking fault, right? That you fucking started this shit between us, Rick? That you strolled up and said how-do-you-fucking-do with a bullet? You think I’m a piece of shit with a bloody fist, sheriff? How many times have you had to wash the blood off _your_ saintly hands? More than once or twice, I’ll fucking bet. I’m real fucking tired of fucking explaining this to you, Rick: I do the shit I do to keep my people alive. I only do what I have to - it’s the _shit_ that everybody else does that forces my fucking hand!”

Rick’s lips pulled back in a sneer of contempt. “You keep saying that, but you know better. It’s you, Negan. It’s all you. Own your shit. You’re _smarter_ than that.”

Negan’s face twisted, and his eyes blazed as if someone had stoked the hellfire inside of him. His hand snaked out and gripped the back of Rick’s head, dragging him in until their foreheads kissed. Those eyes were downright _terrifying_ this close up, with their chaotic mix of sorrow, shame, longing, and above all, that flaming, shrieking, roaring _rage_. Forced up this close to the unending inferno inside of the man, Rick’s fear was close to the awe that was every monster’s due.

The big bad wolf, the bogeyman, the devil.

When he finally spoke, the unexpected gentleness of his tone caused Rick’s hackles to rise in confusion and an almost superstitious fear. “Come on, Rick. Just wake up and smell the new world order already. It could go so _good_ for you if you do. Come on, baby.”

“Stop,” Rick whispered. “Negan-“

“Darlin’, please,” he went on, voice melting over the words and coating them in honey. “You think I want it to be like this? I don’t. How many fucking times do I have to tell you that? Come on, baby, I lo-“

“Don’t,” Rick nearly shrieked. He was _terrified_ of what Negan was about to say, and that terror pierced his heart like a bullet, rending it in his chest and setting off an agonizing, spreading ache with every throb. If he heard Negan say those words, Rick was sure it would be the actual end of his sanity, and he felt hot, horrified tears fill his eyes. For the briefest of moments, Rick saw something like grief surface in those burning eyes still only inches from his own. He saw the man in the flames instead of the monster, saw a soul trapped in hell rather than ruling it. But just for a moment, and then those wild eyes hardened at him.

He put Rick away from him with a rough shove and started up the car. He sped through the remaining few miles to Alexandria and pulled up to the gate, tires spitting rocks and dirt as he took the curve hard. “Get out of my fucking car,” he barked.

Rick nearly fell out, afraid that Negan was going to change his unbearably fickle mind yet again. He nearly screamed at the poor man minding the gate, and he fell through it as it opened, almost going to his knees in his haste to put a wall between him and the wolf at his door. He staggered into his town, mind reeling.

What Negan said he wanted was impossible. It had always been impossible. He wanted total submission without thought of defiance, but you could never extinguish a thought. Not where it lived, in the shadowy places of the heart. Negan seemed to have forgotten that somehow, and that was why he could never be finished killing. It was why no one could ever be safe as long as he stood on their necks, poised to strike with his bloody, thorn-crowned bat at the first surfacing of that stubbornly immortal thing: hope.

Rick still had one hope, and it was that if they lost this war they were poised to fight, he would die in its clashes. He didn’t want to live to endure what would inevitably happen - if there was one thing he could still plead for from an indifferent universe, it was that he would not live long enough to watch either of his children die. He knew that he would keep going even after that - as long as there was someone who looked to him, he would. It was his nature. But the thought of having to do it, having to fight on after everything he loved that was left in the world was extinguished, was a hell he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

He found her sitting on a bench in a quiet part of the town, sharpening knives with a small whetstone. He felt calm begin to return to him from the moment he saw her, and he sank gratefully down beside her on the narrow bench.

“It’s almost time,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes,” Michonne agreed. “Almost time.” She tilted her head at him. “Can you kill him?”

“I would kill anyone if it meant keepin’ them safe,” Rick replied. “Anyone. _Everyone_.” He knew he was giving confession to someone who could understand.

The answering pain in her eyes was enormous, unspeakable. “I remember what that’s like,” she murmured in return, and her expression slowly slid closed again, as if she were pulling the curtains shut on her soul.

—

The next week, the gates of Alexandria rolled back, and Rick was there.

This time, Negan turned around right away to climb into the RV. It was too hard to meet Rick’s eyes.

He didn’t drive them so far out this time, and he didn’t order him to the back. He got up quietly after he turned off the engine, retreating into the RV and stripping off his clothes. Rick followed him, shedding his own. They laid on the thin mattress together, and they managed to not look at each other throughout the whole thing. It was only when they were finished that Negan risked a glance at his face, and his chest froze over when he saw the red, wet eyes.

“What the fuck, Rick,” he said wearily. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

Rick shook his head slowly. “’S nothin’,” he said. Then, with sudden urgency: “Just lie here with me a minute. Just for a minute.”

Negan stared down at him, feeling like there was something he was missing, something that would prove to be very important. His mind felt lumbering and slow, and he couldn’t begin to grasp what it could be.

“Please,” Rick whispered, and his eyes were just as they were on their first meeting - supplicating, pained, desperate.

He lay beside him, settling carefully, and drew him into his arms. He could feel Rick’s heart hammering against his chest, and he stroked a hand up his back. “Why do you have to make it so fucking hard, Rick?” he asked quietly. “Just tell me that. Why does it have to be a such a goddamned tragedy?”

He was surprised in a dull, distant kind of way when Rick’s lips moved over his throat, trailing kisses in a soft, diagonal line across it, lips crossing his throbbing pulse. It was the only affectionate contact Rick had initiated since…well, since a very long time. Since before this crazy shit went bad in the way it was always inevitably going to go bad, leaving them haunting each other like two miserable ghosts chained together by mutual recrimination and despair in a cruel parody of the eternal bond of lovers. Again, his mind struggled to put the pieces of something together before giving up under the weight of his melancholy.

“I’m not the one who made it this way,” Rick whispered before kissing him again and again. The kisses fell on his neck like a soft summer rain, and the retaliatory words that had risen up the back of his throat ebbed. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing it.

It finally all came together a few days later when a caravan of Saviors was blown to hell by dynamite hidden carefully along their usual route.

War was here, and Rick had been saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, funny thing: most of this chapter was written a long, LONG time ago (pretty much right after the first chapter), so the whole piece about having to go on after losing one of his children being a hell Rick wouldn't wish on anyone was there before season 8 went and actually made that a thing that happens. I still think it's an incomprehensible choice for the TV story, and I feel fine giving out this "spoiler" for the rest of *this* story: Carl is NOT going to die. He's not. That bit isn't meant to be foreshadowing. He's gonna be a-OK.


End file.
